Blood Tithes
by Gwendolyn M. Warlow
Summary: CHAP 50 FINALLY UP Events in the distant past have a great effect on Ron and Draco's futures... Slightly dark, may be darker. Takes into account events only up through the fourth book. (sorry about the bad formatting)
1. Confusion

Author's Note: Sorry for the mess-up.  
  
.  
  
Blood Tithes  
  
.  
  
.  
  
chapter 1: CONFUSION - the beginnings  
  
.  
  
Ron sighed and leaned back on the couch as Draco sank his teeth into the tender flesh just below Ron's collarbone and began gently licking away the blood that welled up. As the pain from the bite slowly ebbed away with the blood, Ron reflected on the strange turn his life had taken in the past couple of weeks…  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
It had started in darkness and confusion. It had been a night about half a week before Ron was set to go back to Hogwart's for his sixth year. Harry had, once again, been spending the last weeks of summer with Ron and his family. He had been asleep in the spare bed in Ron's room when Ron's father had come in and gently shaken his son awake. Ron had been deeply asleep and when he blearily opened his eyes the first thing he had noticed was the look of worry etching his father's face. Mr. Weasley had put his finger to his lips, indicating that they shouldn't wake Harry and had then motioned for Ron to get up and come downstairs.  
  
Confused but sure that everything would be explained once they got downstairs, Ron had risen and stumbled to the door. He had paused to step into a pair of fuzzy slippers before continuing out the door and following his father down the stairs. The sight that had greeted him at the bottom of the stairs had brought him up short and wiped the last vestiges of sleep from his mind. Lucius Malfoy had been in the living room pacing back and forth and had looked up impatiently as Ron and his father entered the room. "It took you long enough," he had snarled. "Hurry up and bring him here. We don't have much time." He had gestured imperiously.  
  
"Just give us a minute." The anger had been evident in Arthur Weasley's voice but his look had been gentle when he turned toward his son. Ron had been opening and shutting his mouth like a fish, trying to phrase a question that might give him some clue of WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON! Ron had seen that his mother was also there and had appeared to be wringing her hands. She had come and given Ron a reassuring hug as his father put his hands on his shoulders and steered him to sit down in a chair. "I'm sorry, Ron, there's not enough time to explain everything right now. We'll tell you everything soon. Right now you need to do something very important and I need you to know that every thing will be ok. Right now you have nothing to worry about." Lucius Malfoy had given a derisive snort and Ron's father had shot him a look that could have caused a strong tree to wither up and die.  
  
Ron had been beginning to feel very uneasy and confused. He had looked worriedly from his mother to his father, and at Mr. Malfoy who was sneering evilly at him from beside the fireplace. The fact that his parents looked worried had definitely not helped.   
  
"What's going on?" he had managed as he watched his father pull out his wand and look at him with a scarily unreadable expression.  
  
"We're running out of time!" Lucius Malfoy snapped and Ron's father had flinched.  
  
Arthur Weasley had brushed his hands along Ron's forehead before raising the wand regretfully. "I'm sorry, there's no time. It'll be ok. Trust me." He had then whispered a spell too quietly for Ron to catch and Ron had felt himself becoming detached. He had tried to ask his father again what was the matter, what was going on, but had found that he couldn't speak. He had tried to get up from the chair and found he also couldn't move. He would have panicked then but there had been a strange calm steeling over him and he had watched with little more than a detached curiosity as his father, surprisingly strong, had picked him up over his shoulder and walked to where Lucius Malfoy was standing.  
  
His father had stepped into the fireplace and thrown down a handful of Floo Powder with his free hand. "Malfoy Manor," Ron had heard distinctly before sight and sound were devoured by roaring green flames.  
  
As soon as the world cleared once again, Ron had been quickly carried out of the fireplace and in a few moments they had been followed by Lucius Malfoy who quickly strode off down a dark, side hall. Arthur Weasley had hitched his son a little higher on his shoulder and followed silently. Soon they had arrived in a darkened room and Ron's father had set Ron down, propping him in a chair. Now that he wasn't hanging upside-down he had been able to see that they were in bedroom with a large, four-poster bed set in the middle of the floor. The curtains had been drawn back and Ron had just been able to see what had appeared to be Draco Malfoy lying in a pile of twisted sheets. He had appeared to be restrained somehow and had emmitted a strange mewling sound as he writhed on the bed.  
  
Ron had just been able to see out of the corner of his eye, though he hadn't been able to feel, that his father had been sitting next to him and had been clasping one of his hands tightly. Lucius Malfoy had stepped into view holding what had looked to be a Very Sharp knife and a small part of Ron's mind had started screaming that something was terribly wrong here and he needed to find a way to escape and why had his father brought him here? This part of his mind had been drowned out, however, by the magical calm that had been washing over him in soothing waves, as well as by the fact that he couldn't do anything anyway.  
  
He had watched, detached, as Lucius approached with the knife and his father had lifted his hand shakily and turned it so that the tender forearm lay exposed. Lucius Malfoy had made a small cut in the soft skin just below Ron's elbow and had caught the blood that subsequently spilled out in a small, black bowl. After a few seconds he had taken the bowl away and Ron's father had applied cotton to the wound, wrapping it in gauze.  
  
Lucius had carried the bowl over to the bed where Draco continued to writhe and emit strange noises. Ron had felt horror stirring in that small corner of his mind as he watched Lucius dip a finger into the bowl and bring it to his son's lips. Draco had instantly calmed and fallen silent and Lucius had lifted his head and brought the bowl to his lips. Ron had just caught sight of a thin trail of blood running from the corner of Draco's mouth before the view had been blocked by his own father who had hugged Ron to him, shaking.  
  
Ron had heard the low murmur of conversation and then, when his father had moved away once more, he had seen that Draco was now sitting up on the bed, looking pale and drawn. Lucius had been standing looking down coldly at his son while Draco's eyes had stared at the floor. Suddenly, his gaze had flicked up and caught Ron's own. Ron had wanted to react to the strange look in Draco's eye but he had still been numbed from the spell and his body had just sat there, staring passively back. Draco had frowned and glanced up at his father, "What's wrong with him?"  
  
Lucius had sneered at Ron before replying. "There wasn't time to explain anything to him so his father insisted he be sedated. He can still see and hear everything but hasn't got the will to do anything." He had curled his lip before continuing. "If you'd like to talk to him privately now, Mr. Weasley, there's a spare room just through there. I would ask that you not leave yet. There are things, still, to discuss."  
  
Ron's father had been silent as he bent and picked up Ron once more and carried him into the other room. Before they had gotten to the door Ron had heard Draco say, "Yeah, well if you could explain some things to me, to that would be great." His tone had been very unpleasant but Ron had sensed that he knew little more about these strange events than Ron himself had.   
  
They had passed, then, into the other room and Ron hadn't heard Lucius' reply. 


	2. Revelation

chapter 2: REVELATION - a dark past comes to light  
  
  
Ron's father had set him down in a new chair and muttered another incantation over his head. Ron had felt his consciousness return in a rush and with it the chaos of emotions that had been suppressed while the spell held him. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!" he had yelled, jumping up from the chair and backing into a corner.  
  
His father had held up his hands, soothingly, looking pained. "Now, I know you have every   
right to be upset, but there's something I really must tell you. I probably should have told   
you before but it's very important that you listen to me now." Ron had still been angry but he   
really had wanted to know what WAS going on and so he had tried to calm down and listen to   
what his father had to say.  
  
Despite his determination to remain calm, he had had several outbursts before his father finished his explanation. It was so convoluted and drawn out that Ron would have found it utterly ridiculous if the events of the night hadn't confirmed its truth. Apparently it dated back to the days of Godric Gryffindor, the other three great wizards and the founding of Hogwart's. Salazar Slytherin along with a faction of his supporters had made a powerful bid to take over Hogwart's that had ended in chaos and destruction. The damage had been barely contained by the aid of Goddrick Gryffindor.  
  
Salazar's supporters, lead by, surprise of surprises, Nathaniel Malfoy, had usedblood magic to call up a demon. The demon had been supposed to give them great powers over and above that of other wizards, to make them invincible. And it had. No one had been able to stand in their way. But the price had been too high for even Slytherin's followers to pay. The demon had proven too powerful and possessed the dark wizards in turn, using them to wreck havoc and death on all those around them, even their own families. Many of these wizards themselves had died. Throughout all of this Salazar had stayed carefully in the background, spinning his evil webs and so no blame could be placed directly on him.  
  
In the guise of aiding the school, and to formally distance himself from the catastrophe, Slytherin had approached Gryffindor and the two had found a way to contain the demon. It had required two sacrifices. The first was obvious and a punishment. The demon had required a human vessel to contain it and had been forced into Nathaniel Malfoy, and his bloodline, so that his line was forever cursed to bear its burden. But this was not enough. A second sacrifice was  
required to appease the demon or it would take over its host and become demon in human form, powers undiminished and lust for destruction insatiable. And this second sacrifice had to be voluntary.  
  
Not surprisingly, none of the other wizards had been willing to sacrifice themselves to a demon and they had despaired. But finally a young wizard had come forward, offering himself. Geoffrey Weasley had surrendered the greater part of his life and become the shadow of Nathaniel Malfoy. The demon had required the taste of blood daily to remain repressed and this Geoffrey Weasley had given. On the new moon the demon moved more powerfully within Nathaniel Malfoy and more than a taste of blood was required to keep it chained. This  
went on for years and always Geoffrey stayed with Nathaniel.  
  
Though Geoffrey Weasley had never wavered in his resolution, Nathaniel had chafed at his dependence on him. One dark of moon, as the blood lust swept over him once more, he had let it take him and instead of merely sating his thirst on Geoffrey, he had drained him dry. For a while it seemed that this ultimate of sacrifices had vanquished the demon, driven him back to the pits from whence he had come, but Nathaniel began to show signs of madness. It was said that, having taken Geoffrey Weasley's lifeblood Nathaniel Malfoy had taken Geoffrey Weasley into himself, their two minds inhabiting a single body and battling for dominion. A year after the death of Geoffrey Weasley, Nathaniel Malfoy had killed himself.  
  
As soon as Nathaniel Malfoy's son came of age, the demon had manifested itself in him and Geoffrey Weasley's oldest brother's youngest son had stepped forward to take his place. Thus the chain continued down the centuries. Learning from his father's example, the new Malfoy had never killed the boy but some of his descendants had not been so restrained. Believing that it was only that Nathaniel Malfoy had lacked the strength of will necessary, some Malfoys had killed their Weasley counterparts, thus ridding themselves of the burden of dependence. It was uncertain, what the effects of this action were but, in all such cases, the demon had never been seen to manifest again, and in all cases the men were known to have iron wills. It was thought that they suppressed the spirits in their minds until the ends of their days.  
  
Arthur Weasley's narration had finally drawm to a close and he had stared into son's eyes, searching for understanding. Ron had just had one question, which, he felt, was PRETTY DAMNED VALID. "Why didn't you ever tell me about this before?" he had grated from between clenched teeth.  
  
His father had looked uncomfortable. "We thought it would be best if you grew up without the burden of it," he had finally managed. "Of course there was no way we could tell you when you were little, before we were sure how many children we would have. But we really did mean to tell you before it all happened like this. The demon has seized Draco unexpectedly early. No one was expecting it for at least another year …" He had trailed off.  
  
Ron really hadn't been able to remain too angry with his father who was obviously feeling miserable, but he had still be freaked out by the situation in general. "Why me!?" he had finally squeaked out. His father had looked momentarily puzzled and so he had continued. "I mean, I know you said that it was the youngest son of the oldest brother, but WHY!? I thought you also said it had to be willing. Why couldn't it be just anyone? Why not even someone who isn't a Weasley?"  
  
"Oh, I thought I was clear on that." His father had rubbed at his temples. "When Geoffrey Weasley was first bound to Nathaniel Malfoy, his whole family was bound to the demon's fate as well. Because he was childless, and the youngest son in his family, the curse took that specific form." Arthur Weasley had thrown his hands up. "I don't know. It does seem rather random. It was probably some strange twist Salazar Slytherin built into the curse out of malice. All I know is that," here he had paused, a little too dramatically for Ron's taste, "you are the only one who can do it. And if you don't, then the demon will possess Draco and come into the world once more."  
  
"But he could KILL me, right?" At that moment all Ron had really wanted was for his father to say, 'oh, just kidding, it's all a joke,' because right then things were way too serious and anyway, Harry was the only one to have weird, scary things happen to him. Ron was supposed to only be an extra in the story of Harry Potter, right?  
  
His father's face had assumed a wooden expression that had scared Ron more than anything he could have said. "Yes, he could kill you," he had said, staring at Ron unblinkingly. "He could kill you the way that Lucius Malfoy killed my brother, Andrew." Ron had frozen at these words but remained silent. Of course Lucius killing his uncle made sense. "Or you could refuse, and hope that, after centuries of looking for another way, that way will be found and the demon can be contained before too much is destroyed. But the curse has had centuries to set. The odds are not good."  
  
Ron had wanted to scream. How could every one be accepting this so passively? It was utterly ridiculous. He was supposed to give up any semblance of a real life to follow around DRACO MALFOY!? And why hadn't the other wizards just forced the Malfoys not to have any children? Let the line die out so the demon does too, right? Before he had had a chance to ask this question, however, the door had opened and Lucius Malfoy and Draco had stepped into the room. Draco had looked sullen but Lucius had still worn his perpetual sneer. 


	3. Deception

chapter 3: DECEPTON - walking the devil's road  
  
"I assume you've had enough time to explain everything," Lucius had stated. "It is now time we make arrangements for the next few days, before the boys go back to school. Once there, of course, they can work things out for themselves, but until then..." Ron had begun to be very annoyed by the whole 'daily taste' thing. His only consolation had been that Draco had looked equally displeased with their situation. Ugh, Ron had been able to tell that this was not going to be a great year.  
  
"Why don't you just take a couple vials of my blood right now and leave me alone for the rest of the vacation?" Ron had asked crossly. Man, if Hermione were here she'd have a perfect solution, once again, he had thought. That had reminded Ron of his friends. At that moment he was undecided whether he wanted them to find out about this.  
  
At his suggestion, both Malfoys had gotten a slightly queasy expression on their faces and Ron han paused in being frightened and annoyed to be confused. Blood was blood wasn't it? "I'm sorry, Ron," his father had stepped in, "I don't understand it well, but I think the blood has to be fresh." At this, Draco had looked briefly relieved and Ron had known the bafflement was showing on his face.  
  
Draco had seen his expression and crossed his arms, looking belligerent. "What!?" he had snapped. "Have you ever TASTED cold blood? It's disgusting!" Ron had just blinked and refrained from asking why they couldn't just heat it. He hadn't really wanted to know why Draco was some sort of blood gourmet anyway.  
  
They had all argued for a while after that but it had finally been decided that Ron and Draco would just go to Hogwart's a few days early. That way they could get used to things without a bunch of people around and work out some arrangement for meeting everyday, since, obviously, neither wanted to be in the other's company more than was necessary.  
  
And so Ron had found himself at Hogwart's much sooner than expected and shortly after his arrival, his had luggage come. He might have gone home and packed himself but he hadn't wanted to face Harry just yet. It had been a bit embarrassing arriving at Hogwart's in pajamas and fuzzy slippers, but he had just gone straight up to his room and locked himself away anyway.  
  
Over the next couple of days, he and Draco had met a couple of times in the Great Hall and worked out a discreet meeting time and place. During these discussions Draco had remained his sneery self but Ron had worked hard not to let it get him worked up because, really, what was the point? Just after lunch had seemed to be a convenient time to work with and, because apparently about half the teachers at the school knew about the situation, and because he had offered and promised to remain discreet, they had decided to meet in one of Professor Snape's private rooms that he said he rarely used. Ron had been uncomfortable with this arrangement for a while because a large part of himself really did hate Professor Snape, but he had reasoned with himself that Snape had proven to be a good guy enough times to be at least marginally trust worthy, and if Harry or anyone ever asked he could always say that Snape was giving him extra detention or something. That would be plausible enough that they probably wouldn't question it.  
  
When Harry and every one had arrived, Ron had made up an implausible story about needing to get a jump-start on studying. He knew it was a weak excuse and was sure they didn't believe it but he had stuck to it persistently and they had finally given up trying to get the real story out of him. Or at least, he daily hoped they had given up. Sometimes they would surprise question him and it was making him edgy. Actually, what had been harder to explain away was the fact that a plate of spinach appeared in front of Ron every day and that he actually ate most of it. His mother had ordered it for Ron to try to keep him from getting anemic and, despite the fact that he generally felt fine, Ron's very small practical side insisted that she was probably right in this case. Harry was particularly baffled by Ron's compliance in eating the stuff but had yet to connect it to his early arrival at school.  
  
For the past week or so, Ron had been debating with himself, whether or not to tell his friends. On the one hand he wouldn't have to continue to keep such a secret from them. Letting it out would probably be a relief. But on the other hand he couldn't get over the fear that they would treat him differently if they found out. Also, who knew how Harry would react to his 'assistance' of Draco Malfoy. He also lived in perpetual fear that the other students at Hogwart's would find out. So he had kept the secret and his worries to himself and tried to think about it as little as possible.   
  
  
  
"I still don't understand why you won't let me use your arm. It would be a lot easier, you know." Draco sat up and Ron began shrugging back into his sweater.  
  
"I told you, marks on my arms are much more visible." Ron scowled. It wasn't fair that he had to cover up and Draco had nothing to worry about. "What do you care anyway?"  
  
"Oh, there's no problem, really. The blood is sweeter there, actually." Draco stood and strode to the door as Ron's scowl deepened. Draco was always saying creepy things like that. He seemed to take delight in Ron's discomfort. "You could always ask Madam Pomfrey for a salve though," Draco said before disappearing out of the room.   
  
"You could always ask Madam Pomfrey for a salve," Ron mimicked in a high, whiny voice before scowling even more fiercely than before. The truth was that Draco was perfectly right and that just pissed Ron off. The problem was, he tried to think about this little "problem" as little as possible and was rather too embarrassed to ask anyone for their help. Bad enough that he had to rely on Snape keeping his mouth shut, though that was probably as much to protect his wonder student Malfoy as anything.   
  
Still grumbling to himself, Ron lugged himself up off the couch and headed for the door. Not really looking where he was going he practically jumped out of his socks upon nearly colliding with the figure that came hurrying through the door. "Gah! You should warn a person before you come charging through a door like that," he spit out at Harry who looked at him, slightly puzzled.   
  
"You ok Ron?" Harry asked.   
  
"Yeah, you just startled me is all." Ron smiled with what he was afraid probably looked   
more like a grimace and tried to calm down, doing his best not to think about what would   
have happened if Harry had come through that door a few minutes earlier.   
  
"Sorry." Harry grinned. "I just needed to ask you about the potions assignment and Colin Creevy said he saw you going into Professor Snape's office. What happened this time?" Ron wasn't prepared for the question, having been thinking that he had been meaning to ask Harry why he had missed potions. Ron had been partnered with Neville, a trial for anyone's nerves. Thus he was caught completely off guard and for a second couldn't even figure out what Harry was asking about and just stood there, gaping slightly.   
  
"Having failed to pay attention to my instructions, Mr. Weasley added adder's tongue to the potion instead of bat liver and the resulting brew ate threw the cauldron, the table and had started on the floor before I was able neutralize it." The cold voice of Snape came from behind Ron and he jumped before doing his best to put on his most chagrined face. He had no idea why Snape had chosen to help him with this but he hoped he didn't look as relieved at the explanation as he felt. Harry winced in sympathy before ducking his head at Snape's next words. "And why, Mr. Potter, where you not in class today?"   
  
"I wasn't feeling well and Madame Pomfrey excused me," Harry mumbled to the floor. Snape sneered, looking unconvinced but just watched silently as the two boys headed for the door.   
  
Before they had effected their escape however his voice rose menacingly behind them.   
"Don't forget, Mr. Weasley, I expect to see you in this classroom after lunch everyday   
until we can be sure you've learned the value of doing things correctly."   
  
"Yes, sir." Ron glanced back gratefully at Professor Snape, who was still looking rather   
sour, before following Harry out the door. 


	4. Satiation

Author's Note: sorry this took so long. hope you like this bit. please review and tell me what you think. pretty please. sorry its not longer but the next bit is sort of boring so i thought i'd give you that all in a lump.  
  
  
chapter 4: SATIATION - swept away on a dark tide  
  
"So, why weren't you in potions today, Harry?" Ron asked as they headed towards the library. Hermione had started scheduling study sessions in an attempt to keep her two friends' grades up. "That's the third time this year and it's only been two weeks. If you miss too much more of that class Snape's bound to suspect you of avoiding it and take points away from Gryffindor."  
  
Harry grumbled something that sounded like it had something to do with 'Snape' and 'bastard' but finally answered Ron's question. "I really wasn't feeling well," he said with a grimace. "At Quidditch practice this morning a bludger caught me full on in the stomach. Knocked me off my broom." Ron winced in sympathy.  
  
"Oh, did poor little Potter get hurt?" The mocking voice came from a slender, blond figure leaning against the wall next to the entrance to the library. Ron started cursing silently and settled for glaring at Malfoy. They had to associate daily as it was. Why couldn't he just leave them alone? And that was when Ron noticed something that made him go pale. Draco noticed the look on his face and took the opportunity for another jibe. "And what's the matter with you, Weasley? Sympathy pains? The way you shadow Potter you'd think you two were attached at the hip." Ordinarily this would have incited Ron to see red, resolution to remain calm around Malfoy or no. At the moment he a bit caught up, however, in frantically thinking about what to do about the smudge of blood on Malfoy's lower lip.  
  
Harry wasn't thus restrained or muted however and spat back at Draco, "Shove off, Malfoy. We haven't got time for you." Harry started to walk past him into the library when he apparently caught sight of that which had Ron rooted to the spot. "And what, did you drink blood for lunch today, Malfoy? I always thought you looked like a vampire but I thought your kind were generally more discrete about such things."  
  
Ron saw shock fly briefly over Draco's face to be quickly replaced by another evil sneer. Almost daintily he raised a finger to his lips and looked down at the smudge of blood coldly. "Ever heard of a split lip before, Potter?" he said before raising the finger to his lips and licking away the blood, staring at Ron menacingly.   
  
Ron shuddered and hurriedly walked past Harry into the library, quickly followed by a "whatever" and Harry right behind him. "I swear. You'd think Malfoy could come up with something better to do than harass people on their way to the library," Harry muttered as he and Ron slid into seats opposite Hermione at one of the study tables. Hermione just raised an eyebrow and set a thick and moldy looking book in front of each of the boys. "What did he do this time?"  
  
Ron, who just wanted to get off the topic of Draco Malfoy as soon as possible, answered quickly, "Oh, just being his usual pratish self. So, what are we studying today, Hermione?" That did the trick. Soon they were up to their ears in the history of ghouls in late seventeenth century Scotland and Malfoy was completely forgotten.  
  
  
  
Dinner in the Great Hall was lit with its usual grandeur but this was completely lost on Ron for the moment. He had the nagging feeling that he was forgetting something. He had been distractedly gnawing on the same chicken leg well beyond the point of stripping it of meat as he tried to remember what it was. Harry finally had the grace to point this out to his friend, who put the leg down with a disgusted sigh. "What's the matter, Ron?" Harry asked, looking concerned. "You've been acting strangely all day and, aside from that chicken leg," here Harry paused to look dubiously at the gnawed bone, "you've hardly touched your food. Not even your spinach?" Harry ended with a question, obviously still baffled by this particular of Ron's food choices.  
  
"I told you, my mum'll go all scary on me if I don't eat the spinach. Something about muggle nutritionists or some such nonsense." Ron started listlessly picking at the limp, green mush. Gah, this stuff was disgusting. "Don't worry about me. I've just been thinking. I've had the nagging feeling that I'm forgetting something all day but I can't seem to put my finger on it."  
  
"I think I ran across a spell once that is supposed to find lost reminders when I was looking for a book on memory charms," Hermione said helpfully. "We could go look it up."  
  
"No, that's ok, Hermione. Thanks though," Ron said distractedly. He had just caught sight of Malfoy over at the Slytherin table and the boy wasn't looking very good. He was rather pale and seemed to be paying almost no attention to Crabbe and Goyle who where sitting on either side of him. 'Is it something to do with Malfoy?' Ron thought to himself, desperately trying to grasp the edges of whatever was eluding him.  
  
Just when he felt that he was on the verge of remembering Dean Thomas ruined all chances of that by choosing that moment to catapult a spoonful of mashed potatoes at Neville. The shot missed and ended up smacking Hermione right in the ear, who then turned to Dean with murder in her eyes. "And just how old ARE you Dean?" she screeched before flinging a handful of peas. Ron ducked as an all out food fight erupted at the table.  
  
Ron was just about ready to put his spinach to good use when he felt a blinding pain in his head. A violent tug on his mind snapped his head up to stare at the Slytherin table. He locked eyes with Draco, who was now no longer looking pale but almost completely white, though his eyes blazed a startling blue.  
  
Draco broke eye contact and rose unsteadily to his feet. Gesturing harshly for Crabbe and Goyle to stay put he quickly exited the Great Hall and Ron found himself hurrying after him, not evening remembering rising from the table.  
  
Once outside the doors Ron looked around. He felt a strange coallesence, wiping extraneous thoughts from his mind and narrowing it to a point. The world took on an oddly surreal quality.  
  
  
The silence of the hallway outside the doors, after the chaos of the great hall, hits me like a blow to the head. I feel it prickle over my skin like the whispers in the air before a storm.   
  
Where is he?  
  
The candles flicker in their brackets as I pass, making shadows that cavort soundless over the walls. The silence is breathing, drawing me further down this hallway.  
  
He's close.  
  
A gust of air is my only warning as a door to my right is flung open and rough hands grasp my robes. A sense of vertigo overtakes me as I am pulled suddenly through the door and shoved backwards against the wall. In the suspended time before impact I am vaguely aware of a pale, thin hand grasping my wrist, cold and dry against the overly sensitive skin of my arm but gentle. I expect to hear the door slam as I myself slam into the wall but somehow it has closed quietly. The air is driven from my lungs with concussive force and my skull hits the plaster with a dull thud briefly sending white hot pain lancing to wrap around my head. It recedes and I open my eyes.  
  
yes.  
  
A feeling of calm smooths itself down my spine as his eyes burn into mine. His fingers are still cold against my wrist and I can feel my pulse fluttering against a callus on his thumb. Strange, I always figured his hands would be smooth.   
  
I am here.  
  
His eyes are changed. Where before they flashed a fiery blue they have now darkened to nearly black; dark voids stark against his white skin staring back at me with an empty hunger, a need. His lips are parted as though he is winded and I can feel his warm breath ghosting over my knuckles as he lifts my arm towards his mouth.  
  
take me.  
  
His grip tightens and I find myself giving way before his urgency. The rough plaster scrapes at my back through my robes as I slide down the wall, arm extended upwards towards him as though in suplication.  
  
...here.  
  
He kneels down with me. I can feel the heat of his body from his knees where they are touching my calves. His presense is almost smothering, engulfing me and he is so close I can smell him: musky clove and a freshness that must be his shampoo. So close. I can feel the tension building in him, soon he will have to give way before it. His grip on my arm is now vice-like and I'm sure I will have a bruise later. A drop of sweat clings to his upper lip.  
  
don't hold back.  
  
He brushes my fingers with his lips and I feel them tremble. A low rumble is building in his throat. It rises to nearly a growl before he yanks my hand forward suddenly, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of my inner arm.  
  
*pain*  
  
My breath catches in my throat and I arc my back into the pain clawing its way up my arm, through my shoulder. His mouth is warm against my skin but it is the pain that holds me rigid.  
  
Pain. Pain. Daggers in my arm. Hot. Drawing, sweeping, pulling. He is all around me.  
  
I feel the heat radiating off of him, burning against my leg, through my robes where we touch. His hands, once so cold, seem to sear my flesh where they clutch at my arm and his mouth is a furnace over the wound that is me, split open and writhing beneath him. Whether in pain or ecstacy I cannot say.  
  
This is what I'm here for.  
  
As my blood drains away into him I can feel him seeping into my skin, permeating me with his presence. My eyes are glazed with his hunger, his need. His lust and fear and rage crawl behind my eyes, binding me to his urgency, to him. We are one.  
  
We. One. Blood. Flesh. Life. Blood. Red. Darkening. Falling.  
  
cold.  
  
It's so cold. He has released me and I feel broken. Shattered by his absense. I am numb. The world suspends. His eyes are so dark, like eternity. His face is in shadow, a blank, a haunting presense. In the dark I can still see that his lips are stained red. And then they are decending, falling like tears to the palm of my hand. The carress is brief but it gathers me, collects me into a spark of conscience that watches him straighten and look me in the eye. His eyes are blue. I look down. Holding his bloody kiss in the palm of my hand I watch it darken as eternity decends upon me once more. My vision narrows to a point and all I am aware of is his breath, harsh in the stillness of the room. It swarms in my ears until it is mute. And the darkness is complete.  
  
  
Draco straightened before Ron's crumpled form, his face haunted and pale but for the smudges of blood that covered his mouth. "How could we forget the new moon?" he whispered desperately to the stillness. 


	5. Infiltration

Author's Note: Ok, so I'm putting up three chapters this time because to otherwise would break up the scene too much. Also, some of it I think is a bit boring so I would appreciate feedback. Pleeeeeaaaaase review!  
  
  
chapter 5: INFILTRATION - in the dead of night  
  
  
She hated meeting him like this. He insisted on absolute secrecy, in the dark of night, and the protection charms he threw up around the deserted classrooms that they used would have stopped a whole army of Aurors. If he was one thing, it was well-prepared, and he rarely slipped up. That whole little incident in her first year with him getting ousted from the Board of Governors was the one slip up he had made in quite some time.   
  
She ran down the deserted hallway, pajamas covered by a thick wool cloak. Her hair, bright and freshly clean, was covered by the hood of the cloak. She had her hands tucked up against her side, the cold of the dungeon chilling them into numbness.   
  
She ducked inside the classroom and shut the door quietly. It was pitch black except for the greenish flame of one small candle, sputtering away on a dusty table. Clearly this classroom had not been used in a long time. A thick layer of dust coated the table, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see student-sized desks pushed haphazardly against the far wall.   
  
He was already there, standing in front of the window, which was sealed off by thick velvet drapes. His hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, his hands clasped behind his back, legs apart. He turned around.   
  
"Virginia," he said quietly, lips lifting slightly. She shrugged out of the cloak and tossed it over a chair.   
  
She gingerly wiped herself a clean place on the chair and sat on it carefully, staring at him appraisingly. There was a pinched look about his face, as if he was worried about something.   
  
"You sent me an owl," she stated simply, idly fiddling with one copper-colored plait of hair.   
  
"I did," he said flatly. His voice could be totally emotionless, like now, or it could drip with anger so cold that it was lethal, terrible. She had never heard his voice in joy - certainly he said things when she was wrapped in his arms, passion carrying him away momentarily, but even then it was as if he were tormented by his very need.   
  
She met his eyes, raising one eyebrow inquisitively. He left his spot at the window and moved toward her, dust rising in the wake of his cape and dancing in the meager candlelight.   
  
"Do you know what tonight is?" he asked, pressing against her, his voice hot in her ear. "One year ago today he died. Six months ago you came to me."   
  
Ginny shivered. "And?"   
  
"And," he hissed, his teeth at her neck. "The curse is about to take its first victim. The loyal followers of Lord Voldemort will rise again." He expertly undid her buttons, one by one. "Even after his death."   
  
Ginny said nothing. She rarely had to.   
  
  
  
There was something heavy on Ron's stomach, and his head hurt. To top it off, his mouth felt fuzzy, he couldn't open his eyes, and --   
  
"Yeow!" Ron shrieked, and sat upright. Apparently he could open his eyes. He scanned his surroundings in a panic, feeling dizzy. He quickly located the source of his greatest pain: Hermione's massive ginger cat, which was currently treating Ron's stomach as if it were a giant lump of bread dough. Her claws dug into him again and again, and a strange sound was being emitted from her, as if she were a rusty motor.  
  
Ron reached down and gathered Crookshanks up into his arms, sighing. He was in the hospital wing. The protective curtains were drawn around his bed so that he could see nothing but a vague shadowy form in the bed next to his.   
  
A moan. Ron felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and reached over to move aside the curtain. A fresh wave of dizziness hit him, and he noticed that his right arm was bound up tightly in a bandage.   
  
Ron's mouth gaped open. Lying in the bed next to him, still as death, was Draco Malfoy. The other boy's pajamas were open almost to his belly button, and Ron could see Draco's chest rise and fall with his gentle breathing. Draco's skin was whiter than the immaculate sheets he lay on, and Ron was quite sure that he could see the veins in Draco's forehead much more vividly than was probably healthy.   
  
The front curtain opened suddenly, and Ron blinked at the sudden onslaught of light and human presence.   
  
"Mr. Weasley!" Madame Pomfrey said briskly, her arms full of towels. "Kindly refrain from bothering Mr. Malfoy!" She set the towels on Ron's bedside table, closed the curtain that separated him from Malfoy, and glared at Ron until he lay down meekly.   
  
"Now you stay there and rest!" she ordered, her voice more compassionate than Ron had ever heard it. Concern was evident on her face as she reached over and felt his forehead. "Poor dear, I don't understand any of this. You just regain your strength." She clucked her tongue disapprovingly and bustled away, presumably on some errand.   
  
Ron groaned. What was happening to him? One minute, his life had been perfectly normal. Even boring. Well, as boring as it ever was being sixteen, the best friend of Harry Potter, and full of raging hormones that he was quite sure Hermione was impervious to. The next he was Draco Malfoy's personal blood bank. But why was he in the hospital wing?   
  
Oh yeah…it all came back to him in a rush of sight and sound and, above all, the heady feeling of being drained of blood. Someone must have found them and brought them to the hospital wing. How could they have forgotten about the new moon? More importantly, why didn't someone remind them of the danger they were in? Ron felt panic rise as he pondered what might have happened. Draco might have killed him!   
  
Could things get any worse?   
  
Ron sighed and lay back down against the pillow but grimaced as Crookshanks immedieately decided that his head was definately the best cushion around. Ron berated himself for asking rhetorical questions. When in doubt, just remember: it could always be worse, you could always have an overgrown cat on you head.  
  
Shit and bloody hell. If Crookshanks were here then that meant that Hermione had been here. How much did she know and how was he going to explain it all? Malfoy was in the hospital wing without a scratch on him and he himself had a couple of puncture wounds in his arm. Well, he definitely wasn't going to be able to sleep now.   
  
Ron sighed again, shoved a bristly Crookshanks off his head and sat up. Looking around he saw that the room was far too cheerful for his mood. By the light coming through the curtains he fiigured it must be about noon. Ugh, he'd been out for a long time. Were they going to be able to explain this at all or did the whole school already know?  
  
Just then another moan came from behind the curtain and without thinking Ron reached out to pull it aside. Malfoy really didn't sound good. "I said leave him alone, Mr. Weasley," Madam Pomfrey's voice snapped from behind Ron and he started and dropped his hand. Looking back he saw that Pomfrey was carrying what looked to be a breakfast tray and looking very cross. "He's been running a fever ever since last night. What Mr. Malfoy needs right now is plenty of rest, Not outside interference." She bustled over, set the tray on the bedside table and adjusted Malfoy's curtains so that he was once more completely hidden from view. Ron repressed a snarl and managed to be merely scowling when Madam Pomfrey turned back to look at him. What did the old bat know about what Malfoy needed anyway? Did she even know about their situation or did she think vampirism and fainting in the halls could be explained away as minor cold symptoms? Ron purposely ignored the fact that he was becoming protective of Malfoy, THE STUPID BLOODY GIT, and concentrated on trying to wipe the scowl off his face. It was harder than it should have been.  
  
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips at the expression on his face but, with years of experience dealing with obstinate students, otherwise ignored it. "Well, since you appear to be up you might as well get started on this lunch. You lost a lot of blood Mr. Weasley and, while I took care of most of it, this should help with the residual effects." She uncovered the tray to reveal several lumpy, whitish dough balls of some sort. Ron looked at them dubiously.  
  
"What are they?"  
  
"Spinach puffs. I had the house elves make them up special." Ron blanched at the mention of that icky green mush but, as he reached for one he realized that he really was hungry and the stuff didn't sound half bad. Figures. Meanwhile, Madam Pomfrey had taken his free hand and appeared to be taking his pulse and his temperature simultaneously. And then it began, the battle between his stomach and his desire for information. Suprisingly, his stomach lost and he resisted taking another spinach puff right away.  
  
"Um, Madam Pomfrey?" he hazarded. "What exactly happened last night?" 


	6. Agitation

chapter 6: AGITATION - the cauldron bubbles   
  
For a moment he was afraid she wasn't going to answer. The expression on her face was hard to read, though it maintained its base of kind concern. "Well," she finally began, "I don't know what happened but at about nine o'clock last night Mr. Malfoy showed up here with you slung across his shoulders. You were horribly white and there was blood everywhere. At first I didn't notice that Malfoy was also looking the worse for wear. By the time I made it over with the bandages, however, he was looking quite ghastly. He muttered something about the moon, which is strange because I don't think there was a moon last night, and then he just passed out. He was burning up and I've had quite a time of it trying to get the fever to go down." She scowled, looking vexed. "A few minutes after that, the Headmaster came down, though I had been too distracted to call him." Ron sat up at the metion of Dumbledore and did his best to look attentive. "Anyway," Madam Pomfrey continued, " he said that he had been afraid something like this might happen and that you two weren't to have visitors until you'd woken up." Ron looked at Crookshanks in confusion. "Yes, yes, your friends were here. And quite annoyed they couldn't see you, too. I let Hermione leave that demon cat of hers so that she would calm down, though lord ask me what good it could do. Oh, but that reminds me. Dumbledore asked to be informed when either of you awoke." She looked at Ron reprovingly. "Now, eat your spinach puffs. You need to get your strength back." And with that she bustled from the room.  
  
Ron digested this new information as he munched on the rest of the spinach puffs. So it appeared that no one knew anything yet. Still, it would be difficult keeping it a secret. Explanations would definitely be in order. Ron groaned to himself at the thought of what that entailed and rubbed at his bandaged arm. It was throbbing annoyingly and he was getting that nagging feeling in the back of his head again. Before he could pin it down, however, a strange feeling of need washed over him, making him drop the last of the spinach puffs. Of course, it was after lunch time. How could he have forgotten again?! You'd think that the fact that he was in the hospital for their stupid forgetfullness would be enough of a reminder.  
  
Ron swung his legs over the bed but had to pause to let his vision clear before standing up. Damn, he was feeling so weak. Another moan from Draco brought him to his feet however. No wonder Malfoy had been sounding worse. It didn't usually appear to affect him so strongly but after last night he was probably feeling about as good as Ron right now. Ron tottered the few steps over to the bed, drew the curtain aside and sat down next to the restless boy, thankful that Madam Pomfrey wasn't there to get in the way again.   
  
Malfoy flinched at the shift of the bed but appeared to remain unconscious, muttering in his sleep. Ron frowned then started picking at the bandages on his arm, wincing as the wrappings came undone and the sensitive skin was exposed to the air. It really didn't look as bad as he had been afraid. It appeared to have mostly healed under Madam Pomfrey's care and now the area was mostly just red with a couple of fast healing scabs. It almost obscured the thin white scar from the first time but Ron knew that that would never completely go away.  
  
Wincing and hissing through his teeth, Ron began picking at one of the scabs. He bit his lip and pulled it off quickly. It stung but a bright spot of blood welled up. That was what he had been going for. Quickly, he placed the wound against Draco's lips, hoping that he would wake up enough to taste it.  
  
The reaction was almost instantaneous. The pale boy went completely still and his eyes flew open. For a minute the two boys just stared at eachother, creating a frozen tableau, but then Draco sighed and slipped his eyes shut, licking and sucking gently at the wound on Ron's arm. Ron had tensed up and now began to relax into routine and the familiar sensation. He didn't know why but he felt almost calm doing this, like some important purpose was being fulfilled. Of course, some important purpose was being fulfilled. Keeping the stupid demon a bay was probably pretty bloody important. It was just that he usually hated the way he was forced into it. But right now the hate wouldn't come and he just felt tired. The buzzing current running up his arm at Malfoy's touch was almost soothing.  
  
"I'm glad to see you're taking care of him now, Mr. Weasley." Ron jumped at the sound of the Headmaster's voice. Did the man always have to sneak up on people like that? The pressure on his arm ceased. He took it back and began winding the bandages back around his arm before looking up at Dumbldore. He wasn't sure what to say so just kept his mouth shut.  
  
Draco didn't seem to have any such problem, however. Appearing once again quite healthy, he sat up and scowled at the Headmaster. "Why didn't you tell us it was the new moon?" he spat angrily. "You knew the danger of it. Why didn't you warn us?" Ron winced at the angry tone and would have fled back to his own bed if he weren't still feeling so tottery. Draco did have a point though and Ron resisted adding his own scowl to Malfoy's as Dumbledor sat down on Ron's bed oposite the two boys.  
  
"Now, now. I understand that you are both upset. But I felt that this was an important lesson you two needed to learn on your own." Dumbledore paused to look at them sternly. "This is not something you can ignore. Pretending that it does not exist will not make it go away, a fact which I am sure must be emminently clear to you now. Now, I know that neither of you has much liking for the other." At this both boys stiffened, reminded of their uncomfortable proximity but Dumbledore just continued blithely on. "However, it is of the utmost importance that you learn to get along. I had hoped that you two would be able to work it out for yourselves but I see that some interference on my part is going to be necessary. Therefore, I am going to instruct those professors for which the two of you have mutual classes, that you are to be partnered at all times..." This elisited an annoyed hiss from Draco and Ron dropped his jaw at the unfairness of it all. "...and," Dumbledore continued, "you are to meet for a full hour after lunch every day in order to become better aquainted. I know you already meet in Snape's offices at that time and that should do very well. Professor Snape shall be instructed that you are to remain there until the full hour is up. Is that very clear?" By this point both boys were just staring at him stonily, refusing to acknowledge eachother's presence and the Headmaster seemed to be repressing a smile at the identical looks on their faces. 


	7. Contraception

chapter 7: CONTRACEPTION - halted beginnings  
  
  
"Now, having said that, there are one or two other things that I would like to discuss with you." The look on Dumbledore's face softened and Ron wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or nervous that the Headmaster might be hiding something else. "Firstly, I must say, Mr. Weasley, that I am sorry to see that you have continued to keep this a secret from your friends. Not that I can blame you," he added hastily upon seeing Ron about to protest. "This is a very difficult matter to know how to deal with, with far reaching concequences."  
  
Ron just hung his head at this, wishing fervently once again that this wasn't happening, that it was just some long, drawn out nightmare that would end and he could just go back to being normal again. He tensed, however, at the voice that spoke from slightly behind him. "Yeah, well he better not fucking tell," Malfoy spat with an audible sneer and Ron felt anger wash over him. What did Malfoy care? It wasn't him that had to go wandering around after some annoying prick for the rest of his life, getting his blood sucked out like some pathetic goul. He was shaking so hard with repressed anger that he nearly missed Dumbledore's response to the outburst.  
  
"Language, Mr. Malfoy. Take a hold on your temper, both of you." Dumbledore's voice was firm, comanding attention. "Now, this is precisely why I have given the orders I have. You both need to learn to see things from the other's perspective. I understand if you want to keep things a secret for right now, but you must understand that it cannot stay so forever. People are bound to learn of it eventually. However, it would probably be for the best that, when this does come out, it be by your mutual decision and not by some accident of chance. I am therefore willing to assist you in covering it up, for now. This incident will be put down as a brawl between the two of you and the consequences I have laid out as the punishment you both obviously deserve. I will ask Madam Pomfrey to keep the particulars of your stay to herself."   
  
Ron was still angry but was calming down and beginning to be grateful for Dumbledore's help in the matter. However, if he didn't know any better he would have sworn that Draco had started muttering to himself. "Just be grateful it's not any worse," he said under his breath before turning back to see the kindly expression on the Headmaster's face. How did the man manage to switch from scarily stern to saintly compassionate so quickly?  
  
"And I did mention one other thing, did I not? Hopefully this will brighten you up just a bit." Dumbledore didn't look like he was going to go all scary this time but appearances could be deceiving so Ron held his breath. "I have had these made so that accidents, such as the one last night, may be avoided in the future." He drew out of his robes what appeared to be two plain pocket watches and held them out towards the boys. Ron stood and took them, passing one to Draco and staring down at his own in curiosity. If this was a pocket watch then there was definitely something not quite right with it. "They're set to the phases of the moon. Precisely, so don't go fidgeting with the hands. The noon position is set to the presice moment of the new moon for the 'hour' hand and the 'minute hand cycles once around for every lunar day, noon position, high moon. I highly recommend NOT using them to get to class on time."  
  
Ron was speechless by the gift, this would be an incredibly great help. He finally managed to mumble a thank you but was too caught up in studying the watch to catch Dumbledore's response. Draco said nothing, merely tucking the object away somewhere. He did refrain from sneering however, which was as close as Ron could figure one got to a thank you with the Malfoys.  
  
Dumbledore stood up and patted Ron on the arm. "Well, I'd best be going now. You both should try to get some more rest and I'll inform Madame Pomfrey that you may have visitors now." Ron sighed as the Headmaster left and slumped back into his bed. As awake as he might have felt earlier he was now quite tired. Sleep sounded marvelously inviting.  
  
It was not to be, however, as at that moment the doors to the infirmery swung open and Harry and Hermione came charging in. "Oh, Ron I'm so glad you're alright," Hermione practically sang as she rushed over to his bed. "As soon as Crookshanks came back I knew you had to be all right and we hurried over as soon as we could." Ron knew he looked slightly puzzled. He hadn't even noticed the demon cat leave. Despite this he didn't miss the derisive snort coming from the bed next to his.  
  
Hermione pointedly ignored this. "Ron," she asked worridly, "are you okay?"  
  
Harry looked queasy. "You were fighting? I can't believe you got put in the hospital wing."  
  
Ron tangled his fingers in Crookshank's fur, thinking carefully. Crookshanks was proving to be more of a comfort than he would have imagined.  
  
"Malfoy was talking about my family again," Ron explained. "And......" he got an evil, wonderful idea. "And then he kissed me and asked me to go to the Halloween Ball with him." Hermione and Harry stared at him, mouths open in disbelief. A sound of protest came from Malfoy's cubicle. Ron grinned, feeling more content than he had in ages.  
  
  
  
Snape's deep, soulful voice intoned the ingredients to the Concraceptus potion mechanically, as if he were ashamed to be teaching such things to a bunch of sixteen year olds. Hemione's quill made a scratching noise as she took down the ingredients and process, only half paying attention. She had already memorized this particular potion years ago, hoping that she would have a use for it. She hadn't yet.   
  
Hermione peeked at Ron out of the corner of her eye. He was sitting at a worktable across the room next to Malfoy. Apparently part of his detention was that he and Malfoy were partnered in almost every class now. She rolled her eyes, watching the backs of Malfoy's ears turn red as Ron tapped his foot incessantly against the table leg. Malfoy finally gave in and elbowed Ron hard in the side.  
  
"...drain the manticore solution -- ten points from Gryffindor for that interruption, Mr. Weasley -- and then let simmer for six minutes over a low flame." Snape punctuated this statement with a comical sneer that conveyed only too well his distaste at the thought of his students putting this potion into use. "And might I remind you all -- especially you, Ms. Patil -- that this potion is not infallable. Repeated use dulls its effectiveness." Parvati Patil turned beet red and slid down further into her chair. Her exploits with the seventh year Gryffindor boys were legendary.  
  
Hermione sucked on the end of her quill thoughfully, relishing the inky taste. She was turning the Ron issue over and over in her head once again, as she had been doing for days, and was no closer to a revelation. Clearly something was wrong with Ron. Harry bought Ron's fighting excuse, but that still didn't explain a lot of things. The spinach, for one thing. And Ron's tiredness and pale face. He hadn't even talked about Quidditch for weeks. And last night, while she had been making her rounds in the dungeon corridors, she had seen Ginny Weasley furtively ducking into a utility closet. What on earth was going on with these Weasleys? At least Fred and George had graduated. If not, she might have suspected that --  
  
"I am waiting, Miss Granger!" Snape's voice cut into her reverie suddenly, and she started.  
  
"Umm..." Hermione tried to speak, turning beet red. "Can you repeat the question?"   
  
Sniggers came from the Slytherin side of the room, and a few symphetic twitters from the Gryffindors. Harry was looking at her like she had just sprouted two more ears and used them to fly away.  
  
Snape slammed his hand down on her table, causing her and her partner (Blaise Zabini of Slytherin, who looked rather annoyed at having to share his space with a mudblood Gryffindor) to jump. Snape looked like he was angry and yet pleased to have caught a Gryffindor Prefect in a lapse.  
  
"Detention!" he squawked. "Tonight at 8:30!"  
  
Lavendar Brown made the mistake of whispering something to Seamus Finnegan that ended with a rather loud "sex?!"  
  
"You two as well!" Snape pronounced angrily. "You can talk about these things with Filch during your detention tonight. Anyone else want one?" He stared at the class accusingly. Dean Thomas sucked in his breath audibly. Snape's left eye twitched.  
  
  
  
"Can you believe that Granger got a detention?" Blaise Zabini asked gleefully, shouldering his book bag. He smiled widely, perfect white teeth flashing.   
  
Draco shrugged. "Not really."  
  
Blaise peered at him quizzicly. "Is everything all right? Did you not notice that the golden girl of Gryffindor is going to spend the night scrubbing cauldrons with Snape?"  
  
"I noticed," Draco snapped. "Just because you're hot for every girl in the school doesn't mean that I don't have other things to think about!" He strode off angrily, shoving aside a pair of Ravenclaw second years along the way.  
  
Blaise narrowed his eyes, biting back a yelled retort. He wouldn't let Draco goad him into making a fool of himself in the halls. Just then the girl in question walked by and Blaise once again marvled at how that bush she called hair had transformed itself into such lush tresses. So soft and silky, Blaise wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through her hair. Except, of course, he didn't because Hermione was a Griffindor, and annoying, and bookish. Yeah, whoever liked bookish girls? See, she had a massive volume in her arms now. "Properties and Uses of Spinach: a Practicle Guide." And not only bookish but her taste in books left something seriously to be desired. 


	8. Agression

Author's Note: Just one chapter this time. Many thanks to those who reviewed. Love you guys. However, one note to those who like Ron-Draco pairings: While I too like this pairing, I really cannot say whether or not this story will end up with that or any pairing for that matter. I'm really not sure where this story is going except for a very vague idea and right now I am just writing what the story and characters tell me to write. Don't hate me; I'm just the messenger. There's still hope, but no promises.  
  
  
  
chapter 8: AGRESSION - stifling the rage  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry still couldn't believe that Ron had gotten into a fight with Malfoy that had put them both in hospital. Well, the fighting part wasn't that big of a surprise. Malfoy always was saying nasty things to get a rise out of people and Ron had always hated the stupid git just as much as Harry did. But it didn't usually deteriorate into such physical violence and besides; Malfoy usually had his goons Crabbe and Goyle there to do the punching for him. There was something very strange about the whole situation; Harry just couldn't put his finger on what.  
  
  
  
Of course it was hard to think when Ron was sitting right across from him shoving gobs of mushy green spinach into his mouth. Harry shuddered at the sight. It had been different at the start of the year when Ron complained about the annoying protectiveness of his mother and spent half his time just pushing the stuff around on his plate. Nowadays he appeared to practically enjoy the stuff and Harry couldn't help but notice that the helpings were getting larger. He hadn't talked to Hermione about it yet but he had seen a book on spinach poking out of her book bag and was secretly relieved to see that she was looking into it.  
  
  
  
All in all, Harry was worried about Ron. He knew that there was something he wasn't telling him and he hated the fact that Ron felt there was something he couldn't share with his friend. He hadn't even told Harry why he'd come to Hogwarts early. Harry hadn't even thought that you could come early so it must have been something important. And he had left in the middle of the night without even saying goodbye. Harry kept waffling between feeling hurt by Ron's secretiveness and worried over his welfare.  
  
  
  
Just then Ron finished washing down the last of his spinach with the remainder of his pumpkin juice and rose to leave the table. "Got that detention with Malfoy again?" Harry asked quickly as Ron gathered up his book bag. Ron just nodded distractedly and started away. "Hey, wait." Harry jumped up from the table and started after Ron. "I'll walk you down to the dungeons." Ron looked briefly surprised but smiled as Harry joined him.  
  
  
  
"So, how's Quidditch practice going?" Ron asked as they passed through the doors and out into the halls. Harry smiled, relieved to see this spark of normalcy in his otherwise withdrawn friend.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Ow! What the hell was that for?" Ron scowled and clenched his hands into fists as Draco bit down viciously on his shoulder.  
  
  
  
"Spreading ugly rumors about me now are you, Weasel?" Draco sneered before attacking Ron's shoulder once again. Ron winced as Draco worried the edges of the bite, sucking out any trace of blood from the area.  
  
  
  
"Oh, as if you wouldn't have done the same thing given the opportunity?!" Ron snapped, shoving Malfoy away. Enough was enough. "What are you going to do about it anyway? Is biting harder all you can think of? Sure as hell can't sick Crabbe and Goyle on me now can you? I don't think anyone would believe a Malfoy visiting a Weasley in hospital, and explaining to them that you were just there for a quick bite is probably out." Ron could tell that his face was red. He really needed to try to calm down but Malfoy really got on his nerves sometimes. He took a few calming breaths, trying to ignore the look of death that Malfoy was apparently trying to kill him with. "Geeze, Malfoy, it was just a joke. Get over it already."  
  
  
  
Draco's eyes narrowed even further and the look of death turned into the look of slow and painful mutilation. "I think that telling the whole fucking school that I'm gay goes a bit farther than a joke and falls very nicely under the revenge category," he snarled. "How would you like it if I just told everyone you'd got it backwards and you're the fucking homo instead of me? Bet everyone would have a real laugh then. Saint Potter's faithful shadow a queer. Would go a long way to explaining a few things, it would." The smirk on Malfoy's face was pure evil and at that moment Ron wanted nothing more than to rip his head off.  
  
  
  
That was it. He'd lost it. Ron's temper was completely gone. In place of it was a blinding, all consuming rage. But before his brilliant Mangle Malfoy plan could be put into action, he was quickly brought up short by a polite cough coming from the doorway.  
  
  
  
"Well, as much as I know you two enjoy biting each other's heads off, I have a message to deliver." As one the two boys froze then turned to glare at whatever imbecile dared to interrupt their argument. Ginny Weasley stood framed in the doorway looking slightly perturbed. Malfoy was the first to recover from the surprise of her arrival and answered her with his usual sneer.  
  
  
  
"What is it, Weasley?" he drawled. "Harry Potter fan club having an emergency meeting? Did the boy wonder accidentally flirt with someone unexpected and now you have to rally the troops to get him back on track?" Ron could feel himself bristling at this but to the surprise of both boys Ginny only smirked.  
  
  
  
"And what would Draco Malfoy know about fan clubs?" she inquired in a honey coated voice that had Ron raising one eyebrow. "Although it's probably a good thing for you you don't have one. When word gets around of what you are you'll probably have to go into hiding. Vampiric demons aren't the most socially acceptable of creatures, you know?"  
  
  
  
Next to him Malfoy had started growling and to Ron's surprise he found himself putting a restraining hand on Malfoy's arm. Although he himself wasn't sure what to think of Ginny's newly displayed sneering capabilities, it was sort of weird. It was nice that his little sister was able to stick up for herself against Draco Malfoy, but what she had said was just mean, which wasn't like Ginny at all. Add to that the fact that her insult was equally applicable to Ron as well and Ron found that he was now definitely not in a good mood. He decided to go for the neutral approach to get it all over with.  
  
  
  
"What is it, Ginny?" he asked, keeping his voice as emotionless as possible.  
  
  
  
"Oh, nothing much," she said, gracefully flicking her auburn hair out of her face. "Hermione just wanted you to know that, due to your 'detentions' with Malfoy, your study sessions have been rescheduled to the hour before dinner and she expects you come prepared with those exercises she assigned earlier."  
  
  
  
"What? But I've barely had time to start my Charms homework." Ron squeaked then silently berated himself for squeaking in front of Malfoy. He could practically hear the ferret faced git smirking beside him.  
  
  
  
Ginny just shrugged. "That's just what she wanted me to tell you. She would have come down here herself. Be glad I told her I had to come down here anyway." Ron winced and would have thanked his sister for the favor if the next words out of her mouth hadn't been so cold. "You know, you really should put your shirt back on, Ron. If anyone else comes looking for you they're bound to get the wrong idea." Ginny turned and disappeared through the door as quietly as she had come in.  
  
  
  
Malfoy was the first to speak after she had gone. "Wow, your sister's turning into quite the bitch, isn't she Weasley?"  
  
  
  
Ron, who had been struggling to get into his sweater, froze at these words before working furiously to get his head through so he could answer the git. "Just shut up about my sister, Malfoy," he finally got out, internally wincing at the stupidity of the retort.  
  
  
  
Malfoy, however, was back in his element. "Why don't you make me, Weasel?" Malfoy sneered. "You've got to admit that she's got Ice Queen down pat. Be interesting to know who she melts for though, aye? Fifty galleons says it's a teacher. After all, you Weasleys are gonna have to use all the tricks in the book if you expect to get anywhere in this world. Humble beginnings can be such a handicap, can't they?" This last was said with a smirking pout and Ron wished nothing more at that moment than that pure rage didn't make him lose his ability to articulate. At this point, turning red and making choking noises was about all he was good for.  
  
  
  
"I. Said. Shut. Up. Malfoy." he finally managed from between clenched teeth, shaking from the exertion of keeping his fists at his sides rather than letting them fly where they would: straight at Malfoy's face.  
  
  
  
Whatever witty rejoinder Draco had to that, however, would never be known as, at that moment, they were interrupted by yet another voice from the doorway. This one was, unfortunately, icily familiar to both boys. "I would appreciate it if you two would keep it down." Snape's voice could have frosted an acre in Hell. "I know that Dumbledore assigned you this hour every day to get to know each other better but if you don't have anything constructive to say, you will kindly Shut Up. I don't have time to baby-sit two imbecilic teenagers on a testosterone kick. Another outburst like that and I will start deducting points." With one more icy glare for good measure, Snape swept from the room, leaving the two boys, once again, at a loss for words. The rest of the hour was spent in a stony silence as the two did their best to pretend that the other didn't exist or, at the very worst, was nothing more than a dead and decaying body sitting next to them. 


	9. Abomination

Author's Note: hmmmm can't think of much to say right now except pleeeeeaaaaase review. Reviews are the breath of life. I don't care if you hate it. I just want to know what you think.  
  
chapter 9: ABOMINATION - the hauntings of lost pride  
  
  
  
  
  
After the hour in Snape's offices drew to a close, the two boys parted in the same stony silence that had consumed the better part of their assigned time together. Ron skittered off towards the stairs, knowing full well that, once again he would be late for Astronomy at the other end of the castle. Draco turned in the other direction, heading deeper into the dungeon corridors to fetch his Arithmancy text from his dorm room.  
  
  
  
  
  
Discontent seethes under my skin like the tossings of an angry sea against an impervious shore. The shadows and corridors pass by me in a blur of grey and damp as my footsteps echo hollowly against the stones. My hands are cold where they leave the protection of my sleeves and the air brushing my temples can be described as nothing less than chill as it stirs sluggishly in my wake.  
  
How Dare ...!  
  
My hands are knots at my sides and I force my fingers to open, noting a clamminess that clings to the flesh and chills my hands further. I loathe the damp. Living for six years in the dungeons has been a trial on my nerves and right now it's one more annoyance to add fuel to my anger, like flicking water on an angry cat.  
  
No!  
  
calm. calm. I will be calm. . . . Damnit.  
  
My teeth are grinding together again and I unclench my jaw with a disgusted snort. The tapestries down this hall are getting ratty. Out of the corner of my eye I see frayed edges and reds that are now the color of dried blood but I have trouble looking at them directly. In fact I barely see the hall at all. I keep seeing him scoffing. Scoffing! as though his lies are of no importance. Of course he takes everything lightly. I take out my wand and roll it between my fingers as I walk down the corridor. And why shouldn't he? He's got nothing to worry about. The wood is smooth and soothing as I rub at it with the edge of my thumb. He says he doesn't want anyone to see the marks but I'm sure he just likes giving me a hard time. 'No not there, there, no not there, there.' I think I feel a draft. It's stirring the loose hairs along my forehead. God, this place even smells damp. So carefree. Careless. And what does he have to be careful about? He's not a...thing.  
  
Not! I am stronger than this.  
  
I pause, feeling the silence left by my absent footsteps, and draw in a full breath.  
  
You are Draco Malfoy and you will never be weak.  
  
I breathe out strongly, feeling the release in my chest, and I almost miss it. Such a small sound. A faint scraping, like sand on stone, the hint of bare footsteps. And a strange whispering sighing sound, as though the whole castle were breathing and had just exhaled. I feel the cold bite into my hands once more and pocket my wand, leaving my hands in the warm folds of my robes. My hearing never plays tricks on me.  
  
"Who's there?"  
  
My tone is demanding and cold as I can make it. People don't sneak around in the dungeons. Either you have business here or you leave.  
  
Strange laughter floats down the hallway to my right, breaking against my ears high and tinkling and sinister. I feel a chill begin to walk its way up my spine and berate myself for a coward. The ghosts at Hogwarts may range from jolly to gory but it's not like they can hurt you. Falling back on my default approach to life I scoff, turn on my heel and prepare to stride off down the other hallway when it stops me, a voice this time, ghosting down the hall like a chill wind.  
  
"...little boy........"  
  
what the fuck!  
  
My hands clench involuntarily now and I'm rooted to the spot, ears straining after that soon to be hated sound.  
  
"...i seeeeeee you........"  
  
shit and bloody jesus christ  
  
The voice seems to come from directly behind me and I spin around, wand unconsciously drawn and buzzing in my grasp, to face my . . . Nothing. The hall is empty and still but for a musty draft washing my face and smelling of cold and mildew. My heart is pounding like an uncomfortable, insistent drum against my breast but I force myself to ignore it and stay focused, calm.  
  
A chill washes the back of my neck. My shoulders tense, waiting for what will come next.  
  
"..coward!" The hate filled word is spit out from a point just beyond my right ear and I jump slightly from its suddenness.  
  
NO  
  
"..pathetic, simpering excuse for a wizard.." The voice is so cold and I can feel the warmth of breath on my neck, before if evaporates, icing my skin. I can't move. They're so close but I feel like I've gone numb.  
  
Lies!  
  
"Not even half the man you father is. NEVER Worthy...." I feel like I'm suffocating, I can feel this...presense..clinging to me. pressing against my hands, my shoulders. shifting, swirling restlessly about me in a fury.  
  
but!  
  
"Why can't you be strong?" The voice is a hiss, sharp and demanding and still I can't move, can barely think. I feel a sudden void around me as this presence draws away and suddenly I am desperate for the proximity, for whatever warmth they provided. Because suddenly it is Cold. Colder than the blackness of a dead heart. Colder than my father's voice every time he tells me  
  
"Dependency is for the WEAK. how can you ever be a Malfoy if you depend so strongly on..."  
  
I KNOW!  
  
I'm not frozen anymore. I'm jello. I collapse to the ground, stone sending sharp pains shooting through my knees and wand twisting in my fingers as my hands hit the corridor floor.  
  
..not here, not here....I'm not here.....i don't exist........please! let me just not exist  
  
"prove yourself, Draco." The voice is smooth now, like silk over barbed wire. A fleeting warmth connects with the nape of my neck. "prove that you can rise above this." Light pressure against my arms makes me want to flinch away and simultaneously lean into the touch. "your father could."  
  
wait  
  
The absence of touch brings my head up to stare down the empty corridor. They haven't gone but I feel them drawing away, as the torches lining the hall seem to fade away from my vision, leaving me alone in a long, dark tunnel.  
  
not alone!  
  
A touch to my cheek and I find myself leaning into the caress, lulled in the sense of not alone, before the next words bring me up sharp. "just kill him. you know you want to." I find myself shaking with the effort to remain still.  
  
no  
  
"If you kill him your power will go unquestioned." My fingers are curling against the floor and I feel a distant pain as fingernails scrape at the stone. "If you kill him you will be free."  
  
but i can't...!  
  
"Grasp the power you know is within you! kill him" Hot lips press against my own and I reel from the shock of sensation and suggestion. And then it is gone. The space around me is empty. My lips cool in parts and the damp coolness of the dungeon pours over me, washing away the frosted ice of those words. I feel them sinking within me, though. Waiting, just under my skin, tenacious and cold.  
  
breathe.  
  
Air fills my lungs and I stand unsteadily, fingers cramped awkwardly where they hold my wand, knees unsteady, feeling like they got screwed on backwards. I feel like crawling to my bed and curling up in it and disappearing, letting my pain and disappointments drown themselves in void. Must I face the day?  
  
yes.  
  
Straightening my shoulders and letting my face fall into its familiar mask of indifference, I stride purposefully down the hall, ignoring my shadows that stagger crookedly along the walls, dismissing the cold that seems to radiate from my skin, calling the darkness to it, and the empty void.  
  
  
  
  
  
As Draco disappeared around the bend in the corridor, a brief flash of movement could be seen at the other end of the hall behind him. If he had turned he would have seen a flash of fiery red, and dark eyes in a pale face, before the phantom slipped silently from sight. 


	10. Elaboration

Author's Note: Ok, so this is a fun chapter (I think). Am taking recent reviews into account and will try to work on it but first must have patience. NOW: this is me guilt tripping readers (if I still have any (they fly away in droves)) to REVIEW. Got no reviews for chap 9 and, while I know it was a weird chapter, you could still say something. Am pretending people just got confused 'cause it came so soon after chap 8 (just let me have my illusions). Would threaten not to update until I got more reviews but don't have that much will power. Anyway, after all that, hope you enjoy this chapter.  
  
  
  
  
  
chapter 10: ELABORATION - tangling the lies  
  
  
  
  
  
Hermione never wanted to see another cauldron again so long as she lived. When she, Lavender and Seamus had reported for their detention that night, they had been met by a somberly greasy Filch, accompanied by the ever present Mrs. Norris, and a towering stack of dirty cauldrons. It had looked as though Snape had been saving them up for a special occasion. Some appeared to be about fifty years old, caked all over with grime and cob webs (as well as not a few fresh webs the spiders were less than willing to abandon). Others were so rusted it was a miracle they still held together rather than just crumbling into dust the way any decent cauldron should.   
  
To sum it up, it had not been a pleasant evening. Hermione's arms ached from the hours of near non-stop scrubbing and she was having trouble uncurling her fingers from where they had gripped the rag. The only high point had come when one of the newly displaced spiders had crept up Filch's coat as he scowlingly watched them work. He hadn't noticed it until it was halfway across his cheek, then he had let out a scream fit to shatter crystal. Mrs. Norris had bolted from the room and it had been half an hour before Filch had returned from searching for her.  
  
During the time he was gone Hermione had cast a simple household spell to give them all a break from scrubbing and the three had fallen to chatting. The time had passed all too quickly before Filch returned and they had to scramble back into their cauldron-cleaning positions but, surprisingly, Hermione had gotten a lead on the whole Ron-spinach problem.  
  
Naturally, her conversation with Seamus and Lavender had turned to the topic of their potions class earlier that day and, Seamus and Lavender being Seamus and Lavender, it had shifted to aphrodisiacs and other magical performance enhancers. Hermione, not fully comfortable with this subject had mostly just kept her mouth shut but apparently the other two had a great deal to say on the subject. She had started to tune them out, mentally listing all the things she needed to get done or check up on, when the tail end of something Seamus was saying caught her attention. "Of course, my cousin just says he swears by spinach."  
  
"What?" Hermione snapped out of her revere. Lavender and Seamus just blinked at her, confused. "Why spinach?" Hermione finally prompted when it appeared neither was about to volunteer anything.  
  
"Spinach for stamina, everyone knows that," Seamus finally said before turning back to his conversation with Lavender. It was only a couple moments after that when Filch returned and Hermione hadn't had a chance to follow up on this new bit of information. She'd never heard anything of the sort but, then again, it could just be another one of many wizard superstitions, which often mirrored muggle ones but had their own twists to them.  
  
And so now Hermione was headed for the library. Of course, 11:30 at night probably wasn't the best of times for a research expedition and she would probably get another detention if caught, prefect or no, but she currently had a pretty good idea of where Filch was and she wanted to run some cross-references on the subject. It would make simple sense if the reason Ron was acting strangely and looking so tired lately was because he had some secret girlfriend, though it irked Hermione to think that he hadn't told them about something like that. Besides, while she was there she could pick up the next in the series she'd been reading on the Development of Magic in the East Indies. Madam Pince wouldn't be there to check it out for her, of course, but it was in the restricted section anyway.  
  
When she reached the library, she was surprised to see a dim light falling through the doorway. She peeked through the door warily, afraid it might be a teacher doing some late night research. She relaxed when she saw who it was, though her brow knit in puzzlement. What was Ron doing here?  
  
He was looking intently at a book Hermione couldn't quite make out the title of, flipping rapidly through it as though looking for something specific. Apparently he found what he was looking for because shortly he stopped and began hurriedly copying down his findings onto a slip of paper. He was so intent on his task, in fact, that he didn't notice Hermione's approach until she was about two feet from the table and had just managed to make out the title on the book: "Glamours: from clear skin to castles in the sky." Hermione frowned at this new piece in the Ron puzzle.  
  
Before she could get a look at the contents of the page Ron was looking at, however, Ron caught sight of her. He jumped and slammed the book shut. "Hermione!" he gasped, practically white from startlement, "What are you doing sneaking up like that? I thought you were Filch come to test out the thumb screws on me."  
  
Hermione winced and stammered, unwilling to admit to the sneakiness of her behavior. "Sorry," she finally got out. "I was surprised to find you here and wondered what you were looking for. Anything I can help you with?" she added dubiously. What would Ron want with glamours? Hermione wondered, then froze as the obvious teenage boy answer presented itself to her thoughts. Eew.  
  
It was Ron's turn to stammer. "Oh, no, that's ok Hermione. It's nothing, really." He quickly stuffed the piece of paper into a pocket in his robes and rose, snatching the book off the table, to place it back on the shelf where it belonged. "What are you doing here?" he asked, coming back from behind the bookshelves.  
  
Not wanting Ron to know that he was the latest subject of her research, Hermione offered her secondary excuse of light reading for her library visit. She quickly ducked into the restricted section, grabbed the book from its place on the shelf and hurried back to where Ron was waiting, holding Harry's invisibility cloak. Seeing this, Hermione realized that maybe Harry knew a bit more about the situation and made a mental note to ask him about it the next day.  
  
She froze again as she remember something else, something she'd read randomly about glamours while looking up a charm to make her eyes look blue. It really wasn't something she wanted to think about but, friends give friends pertinent information, right? "Um, you know," she offered casually, "glamours cast on one's genitals tend to wear off rapidly or unexpectedly." Well, at least now he knew.  
  
Ron gave her a baffled look. "Okay," he said slowly, "I'll keep that in mind, Hermione." He then slipped the cloak over their heads and they headed back to Gryffindor tower in silence. 


	11. Intrusion

Author's Note: To a certain insistent reviewer, note that I am working on it but patience is vital. Also note that humor is fun but, as the summary says, this is meant to be a dark story and I'm sure by the end it will be. To all reviewers: THANK YOU!! Also, Wri-ters-block is a terrible thing that affects us all.  
  
  
  
chapter 11: INTRUSION - shattering the peace  
  
  
  
Closing my eyes I bathe in the red warmth of the hearth fire. The world is dark and silent. Laying on the rug in the common room I am wrapped in a cocoon of firelight, of dark secrets and the knowledge that it will come to me.  
  
to me. to me. it will be mine.  
  
The rug is rough against my cheek, damp where my tears have fallen. I reach my arm upward, stretching my body full length along the rug and breathe in deeply the smells of old wool and stone that permeate everything in this castle. My tears ceased over an hour ago and for now I revel in the quiet of the night.  
  
ssshhhhhhhh..........  
  
In the stillness I can feel it thrumming beneath my breastbone, drowning out the murmur of my heart. It glows beneath my skin, a warmth to replace the heat of the flames on my face, a coldness to replace the chill shadows at my back. A thin draft stirs the hairs at the nape of my neck and I close my eyes, holding the feeling of tears slipping away.  
  
soon.. soon.  
  
I used to cry every night, sobbing at the sharp pain of separation, of my dying innocence. But, like a rot at the heart of a mighty oak, it must be cut out. With my tears I feel that old part of me bleeding away and I rejoice. Every time I cry there is less and less of that old self left to stand in my way. In its place I feel myself filling with the other power, knowing that soon it will consume me, needing it to consume me. I am near ripe with it.  
  
fire dancing along my skin  
  
I feel as if my only peace comes from nights like these, lying before the fire. In the stillness I feel myself thinning out to encompass everything, my body preparing for that dawning time of joining. My hair spills molten fire over my shoulder and lies fanned out before the firelight. The flames catch and dance in the silken strands, speaking of the ancient coals burning at the heart of the Earth. Times like these I wish I dared to lie here naked, to let the night air and firelight soak into my skin and bear witness to the change that courses through me.  
  
blood to flames, skin to alabaster  
  
The man is a fool. He thinks he knows this curse, thinks it will serve him when the time comes. Well, he will learn soon enough. I stretch up my other arm and roll over, settling my belly and thighs flush along the floor. I should go soon, back to my bed before these trickster flames lull me into a dangerous lethargy. Firelight is a magic of many faces and it turns its eyes both towards and away from me. For now I let it settle its soothing fingers across my back and side, filling me with a strength to face the morrow.  
  
hold me here. draw me away.  
  
I feel the whole of my skin flinch and recoil in shock as my ears prick to the sounds coming from just outside the portrait-hole. I was certainly right to be cautious. Gryffindor is too full of students willing to risk curfew to really expect the common room to stay completely deserted at this time of night.  
  
  
  
  
  
Ginny shrank back into the shadows around the overstuffed chair as the portrait swung open, admitting Hermione and Ron carrying what appeared to be Harry's invisibility cloak. Failing to notice the girl concealed in the shadows, they bid each other a sleepy goodnight and headed up the stairs to their respective dormitories. Ginny crouched silently in the dark, letting the strange panic that had flared in her breast upon Ron and Hermione's intrusion into her night-time world fade down to a low ember. She waited until the tension had eased out of her muscles before heading up to bed herself, thankful that she did not share a dorm room with Hermione.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A hand came out of nowhere and snatched Harry backwards into a niche as he was heading down to breakfast. "What the.." was all he got out before he crashed into the wall with a loud "Oof."  
  
"Sorry, Harry. I didn't think you were that light." Hermione looked briefly chagrined before her face settled back into a look of hard determination.  
  
"Hermione, what are you doing?" He scowled and rubbed the back of his head. "If you needed to talk to me, why couldn't you just do it like a normal..."  
  
"Where's Ron?" Hermione cut him off.  
  
"Where do you think? It's Saturday. He's in bed. You know how hard it is to get him up on a Saturday."  
  
"Right." Hermione put her hands on her hips. She looked like she was composing a list of points for a History of Magic essay. Harry was hungry but he waited, knowing it would be better to just let her say what she had to say now rather than making her angry by running off to breakfast.  
  
"Okay," she said finally, her plan of attack apparently all prepared. "Did you know Ron was in the library last night?"  
  
Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah. He asked if he could borrow my cloak to go look up something for Transfiguration. Why, what's up?"  
  
Hermione frowned. "So you don't know anything either? About what's going on with Ron, I mean."  
  
So this is where this was going. And if Hermione hadn't found out anything, then that wasn't good. Clearly something was wrong with Ron and concern for his friend was starting to get to Harry. "No, he hasn't told me anything. I thought you were looking into it. What about that huge book on spinach I saw you with."  
  
At this Hermione winced slightly and looked away. "Umm," she said, biting her lip, obviously embarrassed. "I didn't quite get through all of the book." Harry raised an eyebrow. "There was a whole chapter on pixie repellants!" Hermione spit out disgustedly. "And then one on stain removers, don't ask me how that works, and then I just started flipping through randomly." By now Hermione was talking so quickly Harry was having trouble catching individual words. "And you know it never works to do that and I wanted to give up but then last night Seamus said something about wizards using spinach to increase stamina. You know, for sex?!"  
  
Hermione looked at him expectantly. Harry blinked. "You know," he finally said slowly, "about all I got out of that was something about pixies, a bunch of stuff I couldn't understand, and then 'SEX!' Maybe you should go over it one more time." Hermione looked grouchy at this but complied.  
  
"I didn't find anything in that book," she said slowly, carefully enunciating each word and causing Harry to cross his arms at her tone, "But then last night Seamus said that wizards use spinach to increase sexual stamina." She paused to let that sink in.  
  
Apparently it wasn't sinking very far, though, because after a minute Harry blinked, shook his head, looked at her again and said, "What?"  
  
It was Hermione's turn to cross her arms. "I think maybe Ron has a girlfriend."  
  
Once again, all she got out of Harry was, "What?" so she just decided to continue on.  
  
"Ok, Harry, it's not that big of a stretch to think that maybe Ron has a girlfriend, though I'd like to kill him for not telling us, and last night I found him in the library and he wasn't looking up Transfiguration, he was looking up glamours, you know, spells to make you look better? and he's been looking rather pale and tired lately and maybe it's 'cause he's not getting enough sleep and what do you think, Harry?"  
  
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and put a hand to his head, clearly not getting this as quickly as Hermione would have liked. "Wait a minute," he said finally. "I thought Ron said his mum is making him eat the spinach. Why would she give him something to increase his sexual stamina?" This last came out rather weakly.  
  
Hermione shook her head and began tugging Harry out of the alcove. "Wellllllll," she said finally, as they continued on their way to breakfast. "He could be lying about that. Or his mum could be a lot more open minded than she's given credit for, or, I don't know, Harry. What do you think we should do?"  
  
Harry pinwheeled his arms in an effort to get her to let go of his shirt by which she was dragging him into the Great Hall before answering. "I don't know Hermione. Don't you just think it would be easier to ask him about it? If he knows that we suspect he has a girlfriend maybe he'll stop trying to hide it from us. It would be nice if the explanation were that simple." It was at this point that the smell of breakfast overwhelmed Harry and he could no longer restrain himself from attacking the food. Hermione just shook her head resignedly and determined to speak to Ron at the first opportunity. 


	12. Confrontation

Author's Note: (Yes of course you're forgiven, and yes, I'll drop the spinach thing eventually (though the death throes could be painful)) Anyway, I hope nobody kills me for my poor dialogue skills. Characters talking really can't be avoided but sometimes I really wish that it could be. Anyway, once again, hope you enjoy and Pleeeeeeaaaaaase review *bats eyelashes* also, for those of you who liked Dangerous Games, considering starting a sequel. Not sure if it will work out yet but....... Ok, here's chap. twelve.  
  
  
  
chapter 12: Confrontation - uncovering the anger  
  
  
  
  
  
"So, Ron, who's your girlfriend?"  
  
Ron choked on his spinach. Having missed breakfast for sleeping in too late, he had been intent on packing away as much lunch as possible and the question had come at a particularly inopportune time. A good three minutes of sputtered coughing and a glass of pumpkin juice later, he finally had his breath back well enough to answer.  
  
"Could you repeat the question," he wheezed.  
  
Hermione put her hands palm down on the table, leaned forward intently and repeated, "Who Is Your Girlfriend, Ron?" She didn't even look a little bit sorry for causing the coughing fit earlier, just very determined. Ron, however, looked baffled. Harry looked apologetic but interested and Neville asked them to please pass the yams.  
  
"Hermione, I don't have a girlfriend." Ron started dragging his fork around in the rest of his spinach but then glanced down, grimaced and set the plate aside.  
  
"Don't evade the question, Ron. I know you have a girlfriend." Hermione was becoming stubborn in her desperation to get this issue resolved.  
  
"I'm not evading, Hermione," Ron nearly yelled in exasperation. "I Do Not Have A Girlfriend."  
  
"He doesn't have a girlfriend." Ginny passed the yams to Neville.  
  
"You stay out of this, Ginny," Ron growled, glaring at his sister.  
  
Ginny gave him an innocent look before glancing down at the watch she had gotten for her last birthday. "Well, well, I really must be going." Ginny rose and sauntered from the table, turning at the doors to give her brother a wink. Ron scowled and Hermione book marked Ginny as a possible source to follow up on later. Harry was silent and wide eyed, having just noticed Ginny's saunter.  
  
"Okay." Hermione turned back to their conversation with, if possible, even greater intensity. "So," she began to shake her finger at Ron, "if you don't have a girlfriend, then why are you eating spinach all the time, and why do you constantly look like you're about to pass out from exhaustion?"  
  
Ron appeared to be grinding his teeth. "And how does this add up to me having a girlfriend?"  
  
Hermione blushed and looked down. "Seamus said wizards use spinach to increase their stamina," she finally muttered under her breath.  
  
Ron blinked, then snorted. "That's an old wives tale, Hermione. I didn't expect you to believe in those."  
  
Harry, apparently fed up at this point, slammed his fist down on the table, causing everyone at the table to start. "Then why do you eat that bloody stuff and what the bloody hell are you keeping from us?" He barely managed to keep himself from yelling. Even so, Ron and Hermione both froze with shock at his tone.  
  
Slowly, though, Ron's face flushed a deep red and when he finally spoke his voice was harsh with anger. "None of your fucking business." He rose swiftly, pushing away his plate with a rough jerk of his hand, and began stalking from the table. Harry rose to follow him. When he reached Ron he grabbed him roughly by the arm, spinning Ron to face him.  
  
"Don't walk away from us, Ron. What are you keeping from us? Aren't we your friends? We want to know if something is going on with you."  
  
Ron grit his teeth, refusing to look Harry in the eye. "Let me go, Harry. I have to go."  
  
"Where do you have to go?" Harry was practically spitting with anger. "It's bloody Saturday."  
  
"Where do I go every day after lunch, Harry?" Ron still wasn't looking at Harry. "In case you've forgotten, I've got detention with Malfoy till Hell freezes over."  
  
"On the weekend?!" Harry's incredulity briefly over-rode his anger.  
  
"Yes, on the weekend, Harry!" Ron finally turned to look at Harry and the anger in his eyes caused Harry to step back a pace. "Not everybody get's a holiday, Harry! Not everybody get's a break! Some of us have more important things to do!" With that Ron turned and stormed through the doors.  
  
Harry, stunned by Ron's outburst, just stood in the entryway frozen until Hermione came up behind him. "What did you say to him, Harry?"  
  
Harry just shook his head. "He said he has to go to his detention now."  
  
Hermione sighed. This was turning out to be much more complicated than she felt like she was prepared to handle right now.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ron flopped down on the couch in Snape's spare office and shut his eyes, trying to block out the sight of those all too familiar walls that every day were looking more and more like the walls of a prison. 'My jail cell,' Ron thought to himself morosely, 'how I hate thy peeling wallpaper.'  
  
He felt the couch sag to his right and knew that Draco had joined him. Oh, joy. Maybe if he just kept his eyes shut he would become invisible and wouldn't have to deal with the git. This tactic was proven to be ultimately flawed however, when he felt what seemed to be the end of a wand poke into his shoulder repeatedly and steadily. After about ten pokes he could take no more and, with a muttered oath he was thankful his mother wasn't there to hear, flung down the hand he had had covering his eyes and turned to glare at Malfoy.  
  
Malfoy was glaring back. "This isn't a game, you know, Weasley," he hissed.  
  
"Oh, because you're acting so mature."  
  
Draco acted as if he hadn't heard that and continued, "You can't just leave off and pretend like I don't exist whenever you get tired."  
  
Ron blew up. "You think I don't know that!?" he yelled. "You think I haven't realized that this is my life, FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. I bloody HATE it, but no matter what sort of snide comments YOU might chose to make, I'm not attached at the hip with Harry, I stuck with YOU!?" At this point a cold voice floated menacingly through the doorway, protesting the noise. Ron was so mad at the moment, however, that without a second thought he jabbed his wand angrily into the air yelling, "Silencio." If he bloody well wanted to yell he would bloody yell, DAMNIT! Draco had, once again, reverted to his impassive sneer but he at least appeared to be paying attention. "And don't you suggest for one MINUTE that I don't know my duty, that I won't do my part. I know what's important and what's not, but never think that I'm not mad as all hell that I'm going to have to follow a fucking Malfoy around for the rest of my fucking life."  
  
"Yeah, however long that is." Draco muttered this quietly under his breath but Ron, nevertheless, heard him.  
  
"What was that, Malfoy?! Did you just threaten me?!"  
  
For a second Draco glanced away, a strange look on his face, but then he looked back at Ron and anger flashed in his eyes to more than equal the rage that Ron felt burning within himself. "Oh my, you're such the victim, aren't you Weasley," he hissed, his face pale, his lips forming the words but stiffly. "Your lot is life is SO hard. Well how do you think I feel?!" This last was spat with such venom that Ron blinked, though his anger didn't falter for a second. "Made to be dependant on a piece of filth like you? Sucking your blood like some filthy parasite living off of the scum of the Earth? Knowing that I'll never be free if it?" At this point Draco was snarling in his fury and Ron had his jaw clenched so hard in an effort to keep himself from strangling the git that he felt a headache coming on. He wasn't prepared, however, for Draco's next words and had to make a concerted effort to keep the shock from showing on his face. "I'd trade places with you any day, Weasley. At least you've got a choice."  
  
For a moment Ron was at a loss for words. For a moment he felt sympathy for Malfoy crowding to the forefront. Sympathy for him, trapped as they both were in a situation seemingly out of control, stuck with a body he could no longer completely trust. And Ron remembered that feeling of protectiveness that had come over him in the hospital, that feeling of responsibility and care.   
  
Only for a moment though. A choice?! Ron's anger came boiling back. "What Choice?! To let OTHERS die? To sacrifice them in my place? I may be a poor, backwards git with too many brothers and not enough fashion sense but I have a sense of honor, damnit! I have a conscience!"  
  
"And I suppose you don't think I have a conscience, do you, Weasley?" Malfoy looked back at him coldly. "You think I'm just an evil bastard without honor who is just out to do everyone the most harm possible because that's just how I have fun! Death, Destruction, Mayhem. That's Me!" Malfoy's voice was beginning to develop an edge and he was no longer nearly as composed as he had been earlier. "Well let me tell you something, Mr. I'm-Perfect-'Cause-I'm-Poor. I take back what I said earlier. I DO have a choice, one that would rid me of your bloody presence for the rest of my bloody life. I could have just killed you three days ago. I could have killed you three days ago and now I'd be free. And to be honest, there's a big part of me that really wishes that I had." 


	13. Illusion

Author's Note: Not sure what to say about this. Thanks to those who reviewed. I REALLY appreciate it. Sorry if this chapter seems kinda slow, but... Hope you enjoy anyway.  
  
  
  
chapter 13: Illusion - a moment of peace  
  
  
  
  
  
Draco's words brought Ron up short. In his attempts to avoid the reality of this situation, in his anger and frustration at the unfairness of it all, he had somehow let himself forget that. Draco could kill him. His father had killed Ron's uncle and so really there was a significant probability that Draco would kill him. And it wasn't even as though he would be punished if he did so. Blood sacrifices surrendered their rights in that particular area. The fact that Malfoy hadn't killed him was, when Ron thought about it, really rather surprising. At this realization Ron felt the anger drain out of him.  
  
"Why didn't you?"  
  
"What?" Draco snapped, looking up at Ron sharply.  
  
"It would end it. All of it. For you anyway." Ron found himself looking at Draco intently. Really, he should have still been angry, or afraid, after all Draco might kill him yet, but at the moment all he felt was a calm curiosity. He had never really looked at Draco before, and now that he was, he found himself interested to know what his arch enemy and apparent life companion was thinking.  
  
At his words Malfoy frowned and looked down and away, his lips compressed into a thin line. After probably a full minute of scowling contemplation he finally looked back up at Ron. His face was oddly devoid of its usual coldness, though Ron could still see the patent Malfoy sneer lurking under the surface, waiting for leave to manifest. "I don't know." Draco's voice came out sounding hollow. "I...What I did...I didn't really think about it."  
  
The two boys sat silently on the couch for a moment, digesting this strange conversation. The silence stretched out so completely that Ron could hear sounds of Professor Snape working at his desk drifting in from the other room. The scrape of a quill across parchment. A tuneless song hummed absently in the back of the throat.  
  
Suddenly, a strange look of pain flitted across Malfoy's face and he grit his teeth. Ron started, remembering why they were here in Snape's offices in the first place, as well as his findings from the night before. He began to rummage through his robes for the slip of paper he'd scribbled his notes on.  
  
Draco watched this flurry of activity with a raised eyebrow but accepted the paper silently as soon as Ron located it and handed it over by way of explanation. "And it took you three weeks to come up with this, did it, Weasley?"  
  
Ron just raised an eyebrow in turn and leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms. "As if you were bursting with better suggestions," he said calmly before rolling up the sleeve of his robe and presenting Draco with his forearm. There were still scabs there from three days before but they were small and mostly healed by now. Surprising that such seemingly deep wounds could disappear so quickly.  
  
Draco stared silently at the offering a moment before taking Ron's arm gently in his hands, one thumb slanted across the pulse of Ron's wrist, the fingers of his other hand curling into the crook of his elbow. Malfoy hesitated before bringing the arm to his mouth and the awkwardness of it reminded Ron of the first time they had done this. Of course, that time Malfoy had made some comment like he always did, acting his sneery self, and Ron had been counting to ten, trying hard not to yank his arm out of Malfoy's grasp, which had felt clammy and invasive. It hadn't been until later that he realized how visible marks on his arms were and the campaign to hide them from the others had begun. Now, if what he had jotted down last night wasn't too messed up, that would hopefully be one less problem to worry about.  
  
Ron winced as Draco bit gently into the tender flesh of his inner arm. Although the action wasn't as harsh as it had been the day before when Malfoy had attacked his shoulder so angriliy, and after three weeks one would think Ron would be starting to develop a tolerance, a bite was still a bite and Ron didn't think he would ever completely get used to it. 'Well,' Ron shrugged mentally, 'a sacrifice isn't a sacrifice without a little pain, I guess.'  
  
Besides, Draco's teeth seemed to have become unnaturally sharp, which made sense, Ron guessed, so the bites probably hurt less than they would have with regular human teeth, and also the pain never lasted very long. Sometimes there was a sort of hollow ache to the wound but that was generally easy to ignore. Occasionally the gentle pressure caused by Draco's actions was actually rather soothing. Ron decided not to analyze that last thought too closely. Any pleasantness to this unpleasant situation they found themselves in was welcome.  
  
Ron settled back against the couch, which, he realized suddenly, was oddly comfortable, considering Snape owned it. He closed his eyes, letting the strange peace that had come over the room settle into him. Draco's lips moved softly against his arm, his tongue warm against the wounded flesh and Ron realized that, without the anger to keep him distanced, he felt a strange connection to the pale boy sitting next to him. An odd warm sort of current was flowing up his arm from where Malfoy held him and Ron allowed himself to relax into the sensation. For once he felt as though, while he and Malfoy had been bound together by some inexplicable fate, this didn't mean that they would have to exist in constant animosity. While in no way guaranteed, Ron finally felt that perhaps it would be possible that the two boys might find a way to make peace between them.  
  
Ron winced again and opened his eyes as the odd connection broke and Draco let go of his arm, straightening in his seat. He looked at Ron strangely a moment and opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something but then his face resumed its look of cold indifference and he turned away to pick up his wand. "Valitudine Erroris," he enunciated, pointing the end of his wand at Ron's still outstretched arm with a graceful flick of his wrist. Slowly, the wounds, and even the scabs from three days previous, seemed to disappear. Examining the arm more closely, Ron found that he could still feel where each of the bite marks was but to anyone looking his arm would appear perfectly sound. That was a relief.  
  
They didn't say very much to each other after that except for a few words when Draco reminded Ron to disable the silencing charm before Snape came to tell them time up. While the Professor showed great annoyance at any disturbance to his work, Snape would most likely have been less than pleased to learn that they had cut themselves off from his supervision, however minimal that might have been.   
  
When Snape finally did come to tell them their time was up they parted silently but without the usual scowling, causing a raised eyebrow and an almost-sneer from the Professor. After they had gone, Snape shook his head in bemusement at the change but soon resumed his usual frown as he returned to grading papers for his potions class. Forty essays on the origins of various contraceptive potions and their effectiveness was something he was glad he only had to live through once a year.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"It's not my place to tell you." The door to the dorm room shut firmly in Hermione's face. For a moment she just stood there, remembering the look on Ginny's face before the door swung shut and blocked her from view. The strangest mixture of indifference, which Hermione had expected, and sorrow, which was causing her the greatest worry at the moment. And something else, too, that Hermione couldn't place. All-in-all the conversation, if you could call three or four sentences a conversation, had done nothing to make her feel better about the whole Ron situation.  
  
Just then, a clock downstairs struck the hour and Hermione remembered that she had better get to work if she wanted to get that chapter for next term's Transfiguration class read before dinner. With a sigh she turned and headed down the stairs for the common room. Maybe an hour of studying and not worrying about Ron would relax her a little. Lord knew she needed it. Barely started and already this term was looking to be a rough one.  
  
Her plans for study were not to be, however. The first thing she saw as she entered the common room was Ron sitting on the couch with Harry. He looked up as she came down the stairs and motioned her over. The light caught in his red hair, emphasizing how pale he'd become of late and Hermione consciously forced herself not to frown before sitting down in a chair across from the couch. She was relieved to see that Ron no longer looked angry. Maybe he was ready to tell them what was going on.  
  
"Okay," Ron said as soon as Hermione had settled. "Now that you're both here I first of all want to apologize. I'm sorry I blew up at you earlier. It's just...You're right. There is something I haven't been telling you. I just don't think I'm really ready to talk about it yet."  
  
"You can trust us, Ron," Harry spoke up. "We're your friends, you know."  
  
"I know, I know." Ron shook his head and put his fingers to his temple. "It's not that I don't trust you. I know you've been worried about me and I'm sorry. But it's just something that I have to come to terms with first before I'll be ready to share it with anyone."  
  
"It hasn't got anything to do with Ginny, has it?" Hermione asked.  
  
Ron looked confused. "Ginny? No..why?"  
  
"She just seems like she knows what's going on is all, but she wouldn't tell me anything."  
  
"Oh." Ron's brow cleared. "No, she just knows because my parents told her." This produced a frown from Hermione but otherwise she made no comment. Knowing that Ron's family knew whatever it was but that he couldn't share it with them pained her.  
  
Harry put a comforting hand on Ron's shoulder. "Well, whatever it is, just know that when you're ready, don't hesitate to talk to us. We'll be here for you." Hermione added her agreement and Ron smiled at them relievedly.  
  
"Thanks you guys," he said, looking very serious despite the smile. "Oh, and Harry, I'm sorry about what I said today at lunch. If anyone deserves a break after all you've been through it's you. I've just been kinda stressed out lately."  
  
"That's ok." Harry grinned in reassurance. "I know you didn't mean it. So, detention with Malfoy is really that bad, is it?"  
  
Ron grinned back, though Hermione thought she detected a bit of a wobble in it. "Oh, you have no idea." 


	14. Cremation

Author's Note: Haven't got too much to say except sorry this has taken so long (I hate writer's block soooooo much!) and FANFICTION.NET IS DRIVING ME F@!#@$ING CRAZY. To get a completely different list if you put the settings on Char1: Draco and Char2: Ron versus Char1:Ron and Char2:Draco is rediculous. At least Char2 is working again, though. Also, I would have had this up a couple of days ago but FF wasn't letting me upload. Words can not express my extreme annoyance at this. Anyway, sorry this chapter is so weird but....hope you like anyway. Appreciate any and all reviews. Would actually really like feedback on this particular writing style as it is something that I am experimenting with in this story.  
  
  
  
chapter 14: Cremation - snuffing the light of innocence  
  
  
  
  
  
So cold. Lying here in this tomb, it's always the cold that I notice first, pricking along my skin and washing me with its chill touch. Then the dirt and pebbles, rough against my bare skin. It's always so dim, too, almost black. It takes what feels like hours for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. By the time they do I already know what I'll see. The walls of a crypt, rough-hewn stone, cracked and uneven. I sense their shape more than really see them.  
  
so dark  
  
But beginnings are always dark. And cold. If nothing else I have learned this: Darkness comes before the light and the warmth of creation comes only when the chill of death has passed on.  
  
welcome  
  
So I lie here, waiting, and let the cold flow into me. The warmth leaves my body and soaks into the earth, into the stone, like a river pouring into the sea, drying up. Staring up into the blackness I feel my body cool. My fingers and toes buzz with cold as though sheathed in ice. My skin takes on the clammy chillness of a corpse and with the loss of heat I feel myself dying, muscle and bone becoming leaden with the cold, weighted with death and stillness.  
  
still blank calm  
  
All that is left now is a tiny spark of heat at my heart, clinging like an abandoned child to any hope of kindness. I feel it flicker...and release. I can almost see a thin wisp of smoke rising from my body as from a smothered candle. It hovers over me, hesitating, before shredding itself in a draft.  
  
goodbye.  
  
The walls of my grave shift then. Soundlessly they recede, dissolve away, and I can see stars, distant and cold as I am. No longer locked away, under the earth, I lie naked on a hilltop. The night and stars overhead are reflected in my eyes, hard, flat, cold as glass. There is grass now beneath me, brittle and dry. It rubs against my limbs, whispers to me in the wind that comes sweeping over the hillside and tangles in my hair.  
  
the Wind breathe  
  
The wind washes over me, through me, sweeping away the last remains of that candle soul and leaving me a husk, empty, cleansed. I feel I could rattle away in the wind, following the grass and weeds as they are swept along. Instead I lie here, flat and still, a stone upon the hillside, waiting patiently as eternity passes. In the beginning, time is meaningless.  
  
be as stone  
  
empty  
  
cold  
  
I feel him near me now. He is like a torch in the night, shining and burning, pitiless as the sun. His arms go round me, lifting me up, cradling me.  
  
I am on fire.  
  
His touch burns me, searing along my side and back and legs where he holds me. My world turns to pain, white hot. A river of fire pours through me, filling my veins with flames, bringing me to life, bringing me awake to here and now.  
  
MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
Awake, alive. He sets me on my feet. The grass burns and leaps into flames that boil around us in a furnace, smothering me with heat. I breathe in fire. When all around us is burned to ash and blackened earth we stand on the smoking hillside and look out. My hair lashes my shoulders, whisper soft, my last halo of fire.  
  
Look.  
  
His arm sweeps out, showing me the world, and with eyes of flame I gaze outward and See. A great wind sweeps over the world and leaves it bare of its illusions, exposing the rot that lies beneath. Like a great festering wound it is, brittle and putrid and smelling of the decay of basic order, the simplicity of clean truth. And them. Cavorting in the shadows, thinking that they dance in the light of righteousness.  
  
I HATE YOU!!!  
  
It must needs be cleansed. All of it. Before the rot spreads too far and there is no longer any hope of redemption. He shows me and this is what I see.  
  
Why? why me  
  
"Because you can set it right." He, that other, my guide and my redeemer, he shows me, he tells me, he takes me and molds me. Bending close, hair like straw brushing my shoulder, hot breath steaming against my cheek and neck, he whispers in my ear the Way. The Way that I can mold myself into the proper form, transform myself into the power that will carry the dark and the light, that will sweep the world clean.  
  
Thank You  
  
I must not falter. I must be strong. Before my burning eyes the world lies wasted and I...  
  
soon Soon now soon  
  
it all falls into place  
  
All it lacks is the seed.  
  
  
  
  
  
Surfacing from the dream like a swimmer rising to the surface of a lake, I draw in a deep lungfull of air. Sitting up I open my eyes to the warm, dark stillness of the dorm room. Off to my right the other girls are snoring softly, muffled mutterings and sighs in strange harmony with the wind shrieking past my window, the rain sweeping in wet sheets against the glass.  
  
still so quiet, so peaceful  
  
They slumber, oblivious to the visions that haunt my sleep, that nightly remind me of my purpose, my reason for being.  
  
Such melodrama doesn't become me.  
  
The covers feel a stifling weight and I fling them off, exposing my feet and legs to the soothing cool of the night. I need to get away, need to be alone, to stand in the dark and stillness and let it calm me, let my thoughts find their ordered place. Neglecting my slippers I pad across the bare, cold stones to the door. A whispered creak and I'm out, moving down the stairs, cold and reassuring under the soles of my feet. My fingers drag along the wall, remembering the path in breaks of stone and tapestry. Dim light filters in from the dying fire in the common room. I pause on the threshold.  
  
No!  
  
He is there! My enemy. Why must it be him standing there in the shadows? Why not some other demon come to test me? He stands just beyond the fire. The room is almost breathing it is so still. Stray bits of firelight catch in his hair and in his eyes as they flicker upward at my entrance. My tread, so light, still caught his attention.  
  
I must step softly now. I must be wary.  
  
Such careful innocence seems to shine from his eyes, such unveiled simplicity and grace. In them I see the path to my downfall. He sighs and looks away, his fingers playing absently with the pilling on the back of a chair. When he looks up again his eyes are filled with a wordless sorrow and I find myself moving forward without conscious thought.  
  
oh  
  
I slip my arms around his warm form and his come round me, hugging me fiercely to him. He seems to draw strength in my presence. He smells of old dust and rain. In the darkness and the night we clutch each other, the bonds of family grasping and wrapping us tight. All the blackness of the abyss between us.  
  
brother mine what have you done   
  
  
  
  
  
Ron was the first to draw out of the embrace. Stepping back to look down at his sister, he was surprised to see the dampness on his cheeks also mirrored in two straight tracks of tears running down her face. In the firelight Ginny looked pale and small. Her big, dark eyes, set against such white skin, gave her a haunted look, offset by the fire playing in her hair.  
  
"What are you doing up?" Ron asked softly, hoping to distract from a similar question directed at himself.  
  
Ginny ignored this, asking a question of her own. "Do you fear him?" For a moment Ron pondered this, turning over his different feelings on the matter. In the end he could only come up with one answer.   
  
"No."  
  
"You're a fool, then." The bitterness in Ginny's voice was unexpected, as was the cold frown twisting her brow. "He'll kill you sooner or later. He's too much like his father not to."  
  
Ron knew that in the past such musings would have sent him into a panic, the fear leaving him weak and shuddering. But at the moment, standing in the dark and the calm, he felt strangely at peace. It reminded him of that first night when his father had charmed him into sedation and he had watched the events of the night unfold, not judging, merely watching, remembering. "Yes, he may. But what can I do about it? What should I do about it?"  
  
Ginny merely compressed her lips into a thin line and stared moodily into the dying fire. For a while the room was still but for the sound of shallow breathing. "Why are you always so passive, Ron? Why don't you fight?" she finally asked before turning away and heading back up the stairs without a backwards glance. Ron didn't answer, merely followed her example and headed for his own bed and, hopefully, a dreamless sleep. 


	15. Saturation

Author's Note: Ok, I'm sorry this is so short but...these things happen sometimes and the scene had to be cut somewhere. Hope you enjoy and, as always, thanks to those who reviewed and to anyone who wants to review this chapter.  
  
  
  
chapter 15: Saturation - a meeting in the rain  
  
  
  
  
  
It was raining. Lovely. Now what was he supposed to do?  
  
Draco Malfoy had always felt ambivalent about rain and today was no exception. Part of him was annoyed because he had been planning on flying practice today. When it was raining like it was today, however, hard torrents that swept against the windows in the gusting wind, it was far too difficult to see for flying. Then there was, of course, the whole getting wet issue. Draco Malfoy had ambivalent feelings about getting wet, too, especially if he was attempting to enjoy himself.  
  
The other part of him was feeling sulky, though, and insisted that the rain was a perfect match for his mood. There was really no point in denying oneself a good sulk, and really there was no point in being falsely cheerful, either. This part of himself insisted that a long walk in the rain would be the perfect means of reflecting his mood, providing no one saw him doing it, (dignity must be maintained) and in the end this idea won out, if only because the confines of the castle were beginning to feel stifling and hopelessly boring.  
  
The rain beat a never-ending tattoo on Draco's shoulders as he rounded the bend of the lake. Already he was soaked through and beginning to think better of this impulsive excursion, but his thoughts were still dark and he made no move yet to turn back. It felt good to be miserable for a little while. It took his mind off things. Off of Ron Weasley and his infuriating dependency. Off of his father's parting words when he had left for school.  
  
Of a sudden the scene came back to him. He had been standing in the foyer, waiting for the carriage that would start him on his journey back to Hogwart's. The Weasleys had already left an hour previously but he had been still dazed, both by the shock of the turn his life was taking and by the demon-weakness that swept over him in his craving.  
  
His father had come up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder, lending Draco a moment of steadiness he otherwise lacked. For a moment, Draco felt that his father did care for him, even if he rarely let it show. His words, therefore, caught Draco by surprise.  
  
"I can't push your hand in the this matter, boy, but dependency is a terrible thing, especially in a Malfoy. I knew it myself, years ago, and cursed myself for letting it go on as long as I did. My advice to you: Kill him at the first chance, and be done with it."  
  
Draco had looked at his father sharply, then, shock warring with his Malfoy pride. But he had known better than to say anything. He had kept his silence until the carriage arrived, and departed without a backwards glance. Still, the words haunted him, and on this day of rain he couldn't seem to get them out of his head. Ron's words the day previous haunted him as well. Why hadn't he? Even now he couldn't name a reason. Part of himself wanted to say that it was to spite his father, but he knew, really, that that reason alone could not have stopped him. The blood was just too sweet.  
  
At this thought Draco felt a shiver run down his spine and he stopped to look out at the rain sweeping over the lake. The scene was grey and forbidding, the chill waters lapping at the shore in angry waves and the clouds overhead swirling in a gloomy vengeance. A part of himself longed to dive into the water and let its icy chill knife into him, but he held himself still. The rain at his back and in his eyes would suffice for now.  
  
"I thought I'd find you out here." Draco started. Apparently a good sulk in peace was too much to ask for.  
  
"What are you doing out here, Weasel?" he said without turning. "I thought your kind preferred to hide away in their burrows during bad weather." This was greeted with a moment of silence and, for that moment, Draco thought that maybe he'd managed to secure his solitude. No such luck.  
  
"Wow, Malfoy, that was a really bad pun." There was a slight hitch to Weasley's voice and Draco had the evil suspicion that he was being laughed at. That pissed him off. He turned to glare at Ron. Sure enough, the boy had an ill contained smirk on his face.  
  
"What are you so happy about?" Draco finally snarled. Today he was refusing to greet good humor with anything less than resentment.  
  
The smile on Weasley's face slipped a bit but still hovered around the edges. "You know, can't say, really." He took a deep breath and looked out, as Draco had, across the wind-swept lake. "It was late and I wasn't sure if you'd get back in time," he said, still turned away, his voice less jovial than before.  
  
"What do you care if I'm late? The wait doesn't cost you anything."  
  
Ron apparently heard the slight emphasis Draco had placed on 'you' for he turned, then, and looked at Draco steadily. "But I've no reason to let it cost you more than it must." Weasley sat down on the bank, his shoes but inches from the water, his cloak surely beginning to soak in the wet reeds. Ronald Weasley was apparently less ambivalent about getting wet.  
  
"What do you care?" Draco said again, taking a seat himself. If one were going to get wet, one might as well go the whole nine yards he supposed.  
  
But apparently Ron was done talking for, instead of replying, he merely rolled up his sleeve and presented his arm to Draco, much as though Draco had just asked him to 'please pass the potatoes.'  
  
Draco hated to admit it but...the blood almost tasted sweeter in the rain. Maybe it was just the slight delay from routine that put an edge to his craving. God, how he hated this. Maybe it was just that he was cold.  
  
As Draco was beginning to expect, Ron flinched slightly as Draco withdrew his mouth from his arm, absently licking away the stray drops that welled up from the wound. Even as he watched, the it faded from sight, the glamour still in place.  
  
"Why do you do that?"  
  
Weasley looked up from staring at the lake water, frowning. "Do what?"  
  
"It must hurt when I bite you, but..." Draco trailed off, not sure why he cared.  
  
Weasley shook his head, still frowning, "It's not that." He fell silent, absently plucking a reed and shredding it in his fingers. "My sister says I should be afraid of you." He had been facing away but now he turned to look at Draco directly, his voice level.  
  
Draco matched the hard stare with one of his own. "Maybe you should be. My father says I should kill you." He nearly flinched at his own words, so strange to say them out loud.  
  
Ron's look never faltered, however. "Maybe you should." 


	16. Connection

Author's Note: Ok, so the basic rundown is, I waited so long to post this chapter because I had to read the fifth book first. However, this story is not going to take the events of the fifth book into account, that would be too much for my brain, so........yeah. Anyway, here's the rest of that scene that got cut off by the last chapter. Hope you enjoy.  
  
  
  
chapter 16: Connection: strange days  
  
  
  
  
  
From the ensuing staring contest, Draco was the first to break eye-contact, reverting to looking out once more across the lake. "Well, Weasley. I figured you for a lot of things but I never figured you to be the kind to give up. Or is that all Potter's show and you just follow along?" He looked back to see Ron flushing an angry red and smiled to see his aim accomplished. An angry Weasley he knew how to deal with.  
  
"What do you know about not giving up, Malfoy?" The look Ron leveled at Draco was hard and angry. "What do you know about going on, no matter what you want or are afraid of, because it's more important than you are?"  
  
Draco smiled cruelly, not willing, yet, to ponder Weasley's words too closely. "So, you are afraid of me?" The only answer he got to this was what sounded like a growl and a frustrated gesturing of Weasley's hands, so he continued. "And what, besides, do you know about death, Weasley, which you claim to face so readily? Do you know it, really. Have you ever held it in your hands and known what it is, extinguished life?" Draco felt a calm settle over him. "I have.  
  
"I have put it out myself," he continued intently. "I have watched that thing, whatever it is that animates us, fade away, snuff out like a used up candle, or one smothered." By now Weasley's gaze was locked intently on Draco's. He sat so still it was difficult for Draco to tell whether he still breathed. "It's fascinating, really." Draco leaned forward, dropping his voice. The wind and rain might as have well no longer existed, so thoroughly were the two boys focused on each other. "Like the birth of a child: one minute, there's a whole other person in the room, that's what they say. Except with death," by now Draco was so close he could feel the warmth of Ron's breath ghosting against his face, could count the threaded colors of his eyes, "all of the sudden, something is gone. The wings of the butterfly lie still, the beetle's legs cease to twitch and twist in your fingers. That which struggled against you is no longer there. All that's left is a shell." Draco shifted his head so that his cheek lay just barely brushing Ron's and he whispered in his ear. "What do you think it's like for a human? The eyes that once saw you staring blindly, the still hands. I bet Harry knows. He's seen it, hasn't he? Maybe you should ask him, so that you can know what you'll be, when you're dead." As close as they were, the words hung suspended between them. The only sound was the rain on the lake.  
  
"We'll all die some day. Even you." Draco felt himself shudder at the loss of touch as Ron stood, brushing off the back of his cloak. The connection, whatever it had been, was lost and he thought he knew, for a moment he thought he knew. But it was gone, and he was wet, and annoyed.  
  
"Ahh, a philosophical Weasley. What will they think of next? What new game to put a pretty face on poverty?" Old tricks are the best tricks and Weasley taunting had always been one of Draco's most comforting past-times. He was unprepared for what happened next. Or rather, what next hit him smack in the middle of the forehead: something soft, and mushy. The little bit that hung over his right eye appeared to have a greenish tinge.  
  
"Go fuck yourself, Malfoy," Weasley said almost cheerfully and gave mock salute with what looked like some sort of pale green muffin before turning and heading back towards the castle, munching on his soggy pastry. Curling his lip in distaste, Draco was reminded that he was hungry. Dignity required at least a five minute wait before he followed, however, so, at a complete loss as to what else to do, he bent down to wash his face off with lake water.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Mr. Weasley, may I ask where you have been? Do you forget your obligations so readily?" Harry paused while coming down the stairs upon hearing Professor Snape's voice echoing eerily down the hall from somewhere in the vicinity of the main entrance. Harry hadn't seen Ron at lunch and had just decided to go looking for him in the hopes that a game of chess would relieve some of the boredom of a rainy Sunday. It was lucky that he should find him so easily, though it didn't sound as though it was lucky for Ron.   
  
Harry crept toward where he thought he had heard Snape's voice and peaked around a corner to see Ron cornered by an obviously displeased Professor Snape. Ron was soaking wet. Besides that he was mumbling and Harry couldn't make out what he was saying to the Professor.  
  
Snape seemed to be considering something for his scowl deepened. "Yes, well I suppose it's all right this time, but I expect you to inform me before hand if you are going to do something like this in the future, though why you'd pick a day like today is beyond me."  
  
Ron was still mumbling but Harry thought he heard something like, "Wasn't my idea," as he watched Snape give a curt nod, turn with a swirl of his robes, and stride away down a side hall.  
  
Harry was just about to go out and greet Ron when the doors opened and another figure stumbled through, also quite wet. Harry's eyes narrowed as the figure turned around and he saw that it was Draco Malfoy. "What, back so soon?" Ron said in a surprisingly calm voice.  
  
Malfoy answered, sounding irritated. "You didn't expect me to take your suggestion seriously, did you?" Ron made a face and glanced away, causing Harry to duck quickly back behind the corner. "Just my luck you're still moping around here. Trying to get dry by walking in circles, are you?"  
  
"No, just ran into Professor Snape." Harry was becoming increasingly puzzled by this conversation.  
  
"Oh, what did he have to say?"  
  
"Just wanted to know where we'd been and said to tell him first next time."  
  
This was greeted by a sound of disgust from Malfoy and Harry poked his head around the corner again just in time so see the blond striding off down the same hall Snape had followed a few minutes earlier. He was also just in time to get out of Ron's way before he got plowed down by the taller boy. "Ack, Ron! Watch where you're going!"  
  
Ron jumped and looked up quickly from his careful scrutiny of the floor. "Sorry, I didn't see you there, Harry." Ron's scowl quickly smoothed itself into an easy smile.  
  
"What were you doing out in the rain with Malfoy?" Harry tried to keep his tone light but in truth he was very confused and wondering how this bit fit into the whole Ron mystery.  
  
"Huh?" Ron frowned again briefly. "Oh, Filch got it into his head that we should serve our detention cleaning out one of the old greenhouses. Turns out it was so old, didn't even have a bloody roof on. Be surprised if I don't catch cold from this." He started shaking the water out of his cloak to emphasize his point and Harry stepped back to avoid the flung droplets. "So, wha'ch'ou up to, Harry?"  
  
Harry blinked and it took him a minute to remember why he had actually come looking for Ron. "Oh yeah, I wanted to know if you were up for a game of chess. This bloody rain makes the whole day seem so boring. Hermione even got me to finish most of my homework assignments."  
  
Ron grimaced in sympathy and the two boys started off for Gryffindor tower. "Sure, chess'd be great, Harry. Just got to change out of these robes first. M'beginning to smell like a wet cat." Harry laughed at that but in the back of his mind he was thinking that Ron's explanations didn't quite add up. 


	17. Prediction

Author's Note: Ok, so I can't really think of anything to say except many, many thanks to those who reviewed. I would have gotten this chapter in sooner but I've been ridiculously busy lately. Hope you enjoy.  
  
  
  
chapter 17: Prediction - shuddering under the hand of fate  
  
  
  
Ron shivered and sidled closer to the fireplace, feeling like he'd never be warm again. It had been hours since he'd gotten back from being out in the rain with Malfoy, but it was like the cold rain had soaked into his bones. He was even wearing one of those hideous, maroon sweaters his mum made for him every year but he was still cold and his hands felt liked they'd been carved out of blocks of ice.  
  
Note to self: No more following Malfoy out into the rain. Though that was something else that had Ron worried. He wasn't sure how he'd known that Draco had gone walking along the lake. He hadn't even gone down to Snape's office to find it empty. A part of his mind had just said, "Malfoy's out in the rain. Who knows when he'll come back. Better go out to him, then," and so he'd just gone, not even thinking about it. It was like he had some sort of weird, Draco Malfoy homing spell on his brain or something.  
  
Also, after the fiasco of last Wednesday he didn't think he could not go to Draco when he was supposed to. Whenever he thought about skipping out on his 'detentions' with Malfoy he got the worst feeling like he was neglecting something, like forgetting to do something really important. Then he would always remember waking up in hospital and realizing that he could have died for being forgetful. Not a good feeling.  
  
Thinking about these things made Ron nervous and, as was becoming a habit lately, he took out the watch that Dumbledor had given him, checking to make sure that he wasn't crazy and it really hadn't been that long since he'd gotten it. Yep, about four days and counting. If it were a normal watch it would have read about a little before the two. "Time" was moving so slowly, though it couldn't move slow enough for Ron's taste.  
  
"Hey, you get your Divinations homework done yet?" Harry tapped Ron on the shoulder and Ron started, turning and quickly tucking the watch back into his robes.  
  
"No, I've been feeling particularly uncreative tonight and it's weird trying to predict stuff for other people." Sitting a few feet away at one of the study tables, Hermione looked up at this exchange and rolled her eyes. Trelawney had been trying to get them to 'extend their reach' by predicting the fortunes of their fellow class mates and Hermione had told them that if either one of them predicted that she'd die by being gored by a unicorn one more time then she would never help them on another potions assignment again. It had been an effective threat.  
  
Harry smiled at Ron's distressed look and sat down next to him on the couch. "How about we give predictions for each other. That way we can't get annoyed when I predict that you will be castrated and hung from the astronomy tower and you predict that I will be flayed alive after the Bloody Baron finds a way to come back from the dead and takes over the school."  
  
Ron laughed then did his best to put on a straight face, "Thanks, Harry," he said as dryly as possible, "castration is just what I need right now."  
  
"Oh, yes," said Harry, looking innocent, "It's excellent for your self-esteem."  
  
Ron smirked then sighed. "Ok, so what's the method of torture this time?" Harry held up a pack of cards and Ron put his head in his hands. Trelawney's cards could be so gruesome sometimes.  
  
An hour later Harry had been flayed by dementors, poisoned, and mangled beyond all recognition by a horde of rabid flobber worms. Ron had been executed for assualt and burglary, castrated and buried alive, and strangled to death while being held underwater by a large scottish kraken. They both had just one more to go. Ron shuffled the cards, then drew three from the top. This should be interesting to work with. He had drawn the Fool, the Joker and the card of Five Swords.  
  
"Hmm," Ron rubbed his chin in mock contemplation. "Harry, it appears that you will die by the hand, so to speak, of Peeves. You will be foolishly wandering the dungeons at night and Peeves will possess one, or several (I'm not sure), suits of armor and hack you to pieces with their swords." Ron grinned, holding up the cards for Harry to see and Harry laughed.  
  
"Ok, wise guy, your turn now." Harry grabbed the cards and started shuffling madly, causing three cards to fall out face down. He shrugged and bent down to pick them up, snorting when he turned them over to look at them.   
  
Ron raised an eyebrow in question. "That bad, is it?" he asked.  
  
"Oh, you're definitely done for this time." Harry squinted at the cards intently. "I can't be sure of the particulars but it appears as though some unknown person will betray you into committing murder (also of some unknown person). You will be so torn up about it that you will slice your wrists and commit suicide." Harry made a face at one of the cards. "Is it really necessary to show so much blood?" he asked plaintively before throwing the cards down on the couch cushion.  
  
Ron stiffened. Harry was right. The cards were far too bloody for comfort: Betrayal, Murder, and Suicide. The Betrayal card was mostly very dark and you couldn't see much but the Murder card showed someone hacking a person to death with a knife, blood flying everywhere and the Suicide card showed a man lying still on the ground, very pale, with blood pooling around him from gashes along his wrists. Ron shuddered and looked away.  
  
Normally he would just find it funny that the cards seemed to be possessed by Trelawney's "sense of drama" but now the sight of so much blood made him uncomfortable and he couldn't help thinking that he could put his own interpretation on the cards. He had felt betrayed when he found out that he had to sacrifice himself for Malfoy. Malfoy had almost killed him and still might, and if he didn't comply with things the demon certainly would murder many people. And sometimes it felt as though the sacrifices he made for Draco was like slowly committing suicide.  
  
Harry noticed that Ron had grown quiet and put a hand on his shoulder. "What's the matter, Ron? Are you ok? You know it's just nonsense."  
  
"Yeah, I know." Ron nodded and did his best to smile. "It's just...really horrible to think about, that's all." Harry nodded and went to put the cards away.   
  
Ron just stayed on the couch, staring into the fire and thinking about the day. All in all it had been quite strange, if that was a word you could use to describe events in his life anymore. It had been weird knowing where Malfoy was, and then him acting so strange. Draco had almost seemed calmer in the bite too, as though the rain was soothing to him.  
  
And there again, something else Ron didn't like thinking about. Why did he feel like he knew what Draco was feeling when Draco bit him? It was as though the physical link went deeper than that, as though, in sacrifice, they were one person. As though they acted as one, rather than as giver and receiver, taker and taken. Ron looked away from the fire and rubbed at his eyes, trying to take his mind away from this line of thought. "I must be going insane," he muttered to himself, then laughed. What else was new?  
  
Outside the wind howled and rain lashed at the window. The storm was still going full force and gave no hint of dying down any time soon. Bidding good night to Hermione, Ron hauled himself up off the couch and up the stairs to bed. It was a dark night, made even darker by the day and Ron only hoped the shadow wouldn't follow him into his dreams, that he wouldn't dream in red. 


	18. Mutilation

Author's Note: Ok, so don't hate me please. I know some of you find these chapters to be annoying but...too bad. It's another first person pov chapter. A word in my defense: These chapters aren't all supposed to make sense.  
  
  
  
chapter 18: Mutiliation - a tearing of dreams and nightmares  
  
  
  
I feel him shudder beneath me, trembling as I smooth my fingers along his throat, grip the back of his neck and hold him exposed before me, so vulnerable, so sweet. I can smell his fear and excitement, feel it in the tremors that ripple through us both.  
  
YESss  
  
so sweet. His skin beneath my lips is so sweet and I hold my breath in anticipation. His blood will be even sweeter.  
  
mine.  
  
I feel him tense as I set my teeth to the delicate skin of this throat and pause before all else is lost in the flooding sensation of his blood hot along my tongue, flowing like liquid fire down my throat. I can't get enough of it. His body trembling in my grasp. His short, quick, fear-laden breaths. The wonderful salty sweet pouring past my lips. I feel whole.  
  
the world in red  
  
He's practically writhing beneath me now, hands grasping and releasing my back and shoulders, frantic and hot, his neck arced toward me. Is it terror or ecstasy? I can't tell. I don't care. I dig my fingers into his hair, gripping his head tightly and holding him still.  
  
you belong to Me!  
  
I can taste the panicked flutter of his pulse. The hysteric pounding of his hands along my back, sharply tugging at my hair, sending sweet jolts of pain through me that only drive me further.  
  
here. we're Here.  
  
Now. Everything is the now. Nothing exists outside of this. He's gasping now, bucking and trying to throw me off.  
  
No. You'll never lose me that easily.  
  
My sweet. My precious one. My Hatred for you burns in eternal fire within me.  
  
I bite down harder and revel in his Flesh. The blood and flesh sustaining Me. Pulsing with life With fighting and fear. With dying. The striving of flesh and teeth, of blood and bone.   
  
My hatred alone is enough to tear you apart.  
  
His struggles are weaker now. almost listless. almost languid. His surrender is sweeter than the fight. It is eternal and inevitable and Real.  
  
Ah yes. my Love.  
  
my Death my Life.   
  
everything.  
  
I feel the last of him seeping away. He grows still and the blood darkens in my mouth. The taste of death. The taste of ashes and sweet memory and bitter regret. His skin grows cold. so smooth. His eyes stare sightless into mine and I luxuriate in this feeling. This perfect calm and stillness.  
  
i am complete.  
  
And when I rise to my feet I leave him in his peace. A hall, I think it is. The cold stones caressing his cold skin and flesh, displaying the flashes of red like a piece of art. I raise my fingers to my lips and kiss him my goodbye.  
  
no regret.  
  
i am void  
  
The halls are a pale grey blur. The shadows dance and drift around me. I feel no heat, no cold. I drift along in stillness for a while. In satisfied stride.  
  
Whole!  
  
Then voices. They echo along the corridors, surround me with their babbled sound. I think they're getting nearer, or am I getting nearer?  
  
It comes.  
  
Surrounded now. By pale blank faces. By swirling dark robes. The crowds whirl around me as I drift in their eddies. They are nothing to me. I am whole. I am through. What care I when their sharp laughter stops, when their eyes turn to me, their moon pale faces holding some expression that matters not to me.  
  
why?  
  
There in the swirling, liquid crowds. Two faces standing still. Two statues staring at me as though the world was made for their expression. Why does my heart acknowledge? Why do I stop and turn and stare them back?  
  
What do you want with me!?  
  
Their eyes are black in white faces but they bore into me and I feel my color, my life, my wholeness draining away to feed their righteous anger. Like angels of a vengeful God they look. Like demons come to torture the ragged soul that is me. My other self is gone and I am alone with these screaming angels whose eyes burn with the fires of Hell and from whose mouths streams a river of pain to drown me and rip me apart.  
  
Why do you hate me so!?  
  
And I can't find my anchor. They have torn it from me. Where has he gone? Why has he deserted me? Who can fill the void that is me and keep me from being afraid?  
  
you Stole him from me!  
  
I can't breathe. There is no air, nothing surrounding me, holding me up. Why did they take him from me? Why did I take him from me? He's gone.  
  
NO!  
  
Like being stabbed by a thousand daggers. Like being torn apart in tiny pieces that wouldn't kill you if it would only Stop!   
  
he's gone and i killed him. he's gone and i killed him.  
  
And he was part of me, my core, the center that kept me from going insane but it's been ripped away from me. They tore out my heart. Someone tore out my heart. And my stomach. And my liver. And all that is vital to me.  
  
WHAT HAVE I DONE  
  
I held him in my hands. I felt him slip away. I helped him slip way, and then he grew cold and still and lay in his own pooling testament to his Death. Pale skin. Dark eyes. Hair of flame and blood, and the blood.  
  
So much blood.  
  
My hatred is ash. My love is a grave. The angels guard the gate and the pathway that leads to my hell.  
  
"You Stole Him From Us!!"  
  
NO  
  
I stole him from Me!  
  
The angels are blind. They can't see the Truth. I was whole and it was ripped away. He lay in a pool of blood. I washed my hands in a pool of his blood and drank from the fountain of his life and now he's gone away from me. And I feel the hate and the loathing and it's all that fills me now, all that holds me together. It pools in my veins and twists its way into the shriveled coils of my blackened heart. And my vision clouds over with the black void. And my ears fill with the screams of a thousand dying angels, a thousand demons cursing me with their last breath at the end of eternity.  
  
"I HATE YOU!!!!!!"  
  
  
  
  
  
Draco started awake, a scream caught at the back of his throat. The darkness of the dorm was so complete it lay like black velvet against his wide-open eyes and he dared breathe only in shallow silence. He could feel the stillness, the frozen terror that had wrapped his body as he dreamed and he felt as though he were a statue, carved out of tense fear and darkness.  
  
Slowly, he let his hands loosen from their clenched fists, let his body uncurl and lay carefully on his back, listening to the stillness. He cooled as the sweat dried stale against his nightshirt and the storm was a distant acompanyment to his thoughts. The night seemed all the more silent for the wind shrieking around outside the castle.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Across the castle, another lay sleepless as well. Ron couldn't remember the dream that had waked him, but he also knew that he probably didn't want to. Instead of dwelling on it in the dark, where the surrounding presence of his sleeping friends made him feel all the more alone, he had gotten up, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders and stumbled down to the common room.  
  
Lying on the couch he watched the low burning embers of the fire flicker in the fireplace, letting it lull him. So many nights it seemed he'd lain there, awake with his circling thoughts. Coming close to finding rest but then never seeming able to grasp it. why why why His thoughts were a chorus in his head. He seemed to have lost the rest of the question a while ago.  
  
He sighed, shifting to lie on his back and holding his arm up over his face for inspection. The glamour was flawless, his skin appearing smooth and whole. Running his thumb over the skin he felt the slight raised roughness of small scabs and the tender swelling of the newest mark. Pulling his thumb away he was surprised to see a single drop of blood clinging just above the nail, looking eerie in the firelight. Ron frowned and brushed his fingers over his arm but this time they came away clean. What did it mean?  
  
Absently putting his thumb to his lips, he was half surprised by the salty taste of his own blood. It tasted so alive. Part of him had expected to taste rain. With these thoughts still pacing tirelessly through his mind, Ron rose wearily and trudged back to bed. 


	19. Improvisation

Author's Note: Ok, sorry this has taken so long to get up but I was on vacation and then my brain died. In any case, hope you like it and thanks to those who have reviewed.  
  
  
  
chapter 19: Improvisation - fist of the dragon  
  
  
  
  
  
A minute before the bell rang, the door to the Transfiguration classroom flew open and Ron Weasley skittered inside, dashed over to his seat and flung himself down in the chair. Malfoy, his unwilling partner in the class, looked over at him and curled his lip in contempt. "What, do you have some weird disability that keeps you from being on time, Weasley?" he said under his breath as McGonagall strode into the room. Ron just scowled at him quickly before turning his attention back to the head of the class. Just because McGonagall was the head of his house didn't mean she would hesitate to take away points if she caught him arguing with Malfoy during class.  
  
"Ok, class," McGonagall began, speaking loudly, "Today's lesson will cover transfiguring portions of the anatomy. I assume that you have all read chapter three in your text and so are familiar with the basic principals to keep in mind." Ron glanced over at Hermione and saw that she was looking at him disapprovingly. She had tried to drill the chapter into his head that morning at breakfast but he hadn't been paying very much attention. Harry sat next to her, trying to shuffle discreetly through his notes.  
  
"Now," McGonagall continued, "Today you will be working with your partners to transfigure his or her hand into a dragon's paw." There were a of couple excited and or nervous whispers at this and Neville looked like he was about to faint but, at a raised eyebrow from the professor, the class quieted down. "This exersise is particularly touchy so I would like a student to come up for a demonstration." McGonagall looked apraisingly around the room before settling on her chosen victim. "Mr. Zabini." Blaise Zabini was sitting behind Hermione and had obviously been taunting her. He jumped when his name was called. "Come to the front of the room, please."  
  
Blaise stood slowly, a cocky sneer twisting his mouth, and slowly sauntered to the front of the class. McGonagall merely watched, sternly disapproving, as he approached. "All right, now hold out your hand and keep it still," she said when he finally stood before her. "We want to do everything we can to ensure a good aim." The smile she bestowed on Zabini was less than pleasant and he quickly dropped his smirk.  
  
"Manus Draca Mutare," Professor McGonagall pronounced solemnly, her wand tip pointed steadily at Blaise's outstretched hand. An eerie yellowish-green light shot from the end of her wand, engulfing Blaise's hand and arm in a sickly glow. He flinched and pulled his hand back, his face twisting in a grimace of pain. Before everyone's eyes his hand began to twist and warp, slowly changing so that the fingers gnarled over into sharp talons and black scales spread their way across his skin, extending all the way up to his elbow. When the transformation was complete Blaise held up his 'hand', examining it closely and grinning wickedly at the sharp, dagger-like claws.  
  
"Very well." McGonagall still managed to look disapproving despite the obvious success of her spell. "As you can all see, the transformation shouldn't extend past the elbow. If you see it extending further you are to call me over immediately. This spell was not meant for full-body transformations and there can be serious side-effects if it gets out of hand." McGonagall paused to look sharply about the room before reversing the transformation on Blaise's hand. "Manus Bonus." With much less fanfare than the initial transformation, Blaise's hand quickly melted back into its proper shape. Zabini looked disappointed.  
  
"Ok, class. I'll be monitering you all closely." Professor McGonagall shooed Blaise back to his seat. "You are to take turns with your partner, one of you performing the transfiguration, then reversing it before your partner has a go. Is that clear?"   
  
There was a murmured assent throughout the classroom and Ron stood for the lesson, praying that he could keep in mind everything he needed to know. He looked back over towards Hermione to see if she might be trying to communicate any last minute tips to him. No such luck. As he watched, Zabini walked by Hermione on his way back to his seat, bumping into her as she was standing. "Watch it, mudblood," he snarled, turning to give her an dark scowl.  
  
Ron heard Malfoy behind him snicker at the exchange and turned around frowning. "I can't believe you get that much pleasure out of name calling, Malfoy." He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before and was feeling grumpy. A long class period of trying to work with Malfoy was not sounding too appealing at the moment.  
  
"Calm down, Weasel." Draco gave him a look that was almost exasperated and Ron had to work to keep his expression neutral. "I wasn't laughing at Granger. I was laughing at Zabini. Probably trying to cop a feel, though why he would want to is truly beyond me." Ron found himself caught between anger and confusion. Did Malfoy just make a joke? Was it possibly funny? Apparently he looked pretty baffled at this because Draco got a strange look on his face before turning to get out his wand and prepare for the lesson.  
  
When Malfoy turned back, wand in hand, he looked so prepared and determined it made Ron feel a little nervous. "Ok, Weasel. I'm going first. I think you could use the extra demonstration anyway," Draco sneered. Ron made a face but held out his hand obligingly. Ron hated to admit it but Malfoy was probably right, anyway.  
  
Malfoy got an intense look of concentration on his face before gesturing carefully with his wand and clearly enunciating the words of the spell. Ron flinched as the yellowish-green fire hit his hand and engulfed it, beginning to spread up his arm. It brought with it a terrible burning sensation and Ron felt an awful twisting, wrenching in his bones as his hand slowly began to take on the form of a dragon's paw.  
  
Despite the pain, Ron had to admit that it looked pretty cool when it was done. Creepy but cool. He now sported five long, black talons that looked sharp enough to skin something with and the scales covering his hand and forearm glittered a cruel green. Ron flexed his 'fingers' and admired the strength that he could feel in his hand, the way the light glinted dangerously across his claws. He and Malfoy both stood there studying the hand intently for a few minutes. Ron found that he was fascinated by the similarities and differences he saw between this paw and his normal hand and Draco appeared equally interested.  
  
"Wait, let me try something." Malfoy frowned and lifted his wand, preparing for another spell. Something in the back of Ron's mind said that he should be worried that Malfoy wanted to "try something" on his hand, but he just held himself still as Draco carefully positioned his wand and said quietly, "Valitudine Erroris." For a moment Ron was disappointed with this experiment, not expecting anything to happen, but after a moment his 'hand' began to go fuzzy and soon it smoothed itself into the lines of his normal hand. Ron lifted his eyebrows in surprise. He flexed his fingers again, seeing regular human fingers curl open and closed but he could feel that his hand still wasn't normal. If he wasn't careful, he could probably cut someone or something with his claws. "Wicked." Malfoy grabbed at the ends of Ron's fingers and smiled as he noted the effects of the glamour. He cursed though when he snagged one of the claw tips and scratched his finger.  
  
Ron was confused though. "But why didn't it do this before? The glamour was still in place yesterday and we didn't have to refresh it." Ron kept his voice low, not wanting to alert McGonagall.  
  
Draco frowned, looking thoughtful. "Maybe it has to do with the intent when the spell is cast."  
  
"But it's just a glamour to give the appearance of health. Why would it work on this then?"  
  
"Maybe it defines health as the most normal state?" Draco offered, but shrugged. "Still, it's a cool way to hide a weapon."  
  
Ron gave Malfoy a dubious look before looking past his shoulder and seeing that McGonagall was coming their way to check on their progress. "Quick. Take off the glamour. McGonagall's coming."  
  
Draco brought his wand up quickly, whispering "Finite Incantatem." The glamour rapidly dissolved away, leaving the dragon's paw once again visible and just in time for McGonagall's arrival.  
  
"Everything going well over here, boys?" McGonagall's voice held a trace of doubt that this could be possible.  
  
"Fine." Ron held up his 'hand,' waggling the claws back and forth.  
  
Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Very good, Mister Malfoy. Just be sure that you put as much concentration into changing it back as you did for the initial transfiguration." With that she turned and strode off to the other side of the room where it appeared that Pansy Parkinson and Milicent Balstrode were have trouble with the transfiguration. If Ron wasn't mistaken, Pansy was missing her thumb.  
  
"Oh shit. I'm glad she didn't notice that."  
  
"What?" Ron turned back to Malfoy and looked, as he was, down at his arm. "Shit," he muttered, hastily wiping away the drop of blood that had oozed out from a crack inbetween two of the scales on his forearm. "Quick, change it back." Malfoy quickly complied and the two boys surveyed the results of of the transfiguration and that hasty Finite Incantatem. The bite marks were once again visible on Ron's arm and some of them appeared to have torn open in the transfiguration as they were bleeding slightly.  
  
"Does it hurt?" Ron looked up in surprise to see that Malfoy had a slightly worried look on his face. In fact, his expression was very intent and some of what was there Ron couldn't read. Malfoy even looked a little paler than usual.  
  
"It's fine, Malfoy," Ron said in a low voice, then hissed, "Now put the glamour back. Quick, before anyone sees."   
  
This seemed to snap Draco out of it for he quickly lifted his wand saying, "Valitudine Erroris," once again, back to his cool, calm self. "Your turn, Weasley," he said then, and Ron couldn't tell if the upward twisting of his lips was intended to be a smile or a sneer.  
  
  
  
  
  
Despite the burdensome task of trying to calm Neville down so that they could get to work on the exercise, Hermione was simultaneously trying to keep an eye on Ron. Anything that had Malfoy in a position to use magic on Ron didn't sound like a good idea and she had little faith that the two of them would be able to work through this exersise without incident.  
  
She and Neville were actually quite close to where Ron and Malfoy were working but still Hermione was having a hard time keeping an eye on them. Blaise Zabini had been standing uncomfortably close the entire class period and kept making loud references to his partner that were obviously meant to be directed at her. It was starting to get on her nerves.  
  
She finally calmed Neville to the point where he was able to hold his hand still enough for her to transfigure it, and managed to catch a look toward Ron. She was surprised to see both he and Draco hunched over, intently studying Ron's hand. Then McGonagall swept towards them, blocking her view and she looked back to see Neville, white as a sheet, staring in near shock at his new clawed and blue-scaled hand. "Can you change it back now, Hermione?" he asked in a small voice. Hermione pursed her lips, holding back the 'Oh, honestly' on the tip of her tongue, and flicked her wand toward Neville's 'hand,' saying "Manus Bonus."  
  
As Neville's hand changed back into its normal form, Hermione glanced again towards Ron and saw that he and Malfoy were now both frowning at something. Then Malfoy suddenly pulled out his wand once more and performed a quick spell. If the strangeness of the situation hadn't caught Hermione's attention she would never have caught which spell he used, but as it was her concentration was so focused that she just barely managed to make out that it sounded as though the first word began with a 'v' and the second word was 'error'-something. Hermione frowned before turning back to Neville. She couldn't think of any spells that fit that description. She mentally filed it away as something to check up on later. 


	20. Ashen

Author's Note: Ok, so REALLY REALLY sorry this has taken so long for me to update. My only excuse is that the last couple of weeks have been a tad nutty. Please forgive me. Thanks go out again to those who reviewed last time. You are so good to me.  
  
  
  
chapter 20: Ashen - a calm before the storm  
  
  
  
  
  
Ron felt a cold shiver run down his spine at the light touch on his shoulder and turned sharply to see who was behind him. Ginny looked up at him innocently. He sighed and turned to continue down the hall toward the dungeons. "What is it, Ginny?" he asked wearily. The headache still hadn't worn off from Divinations the period before lunch and he wasn't expecting the upcoming hour with Malfoy to improve things any.  
  
"You have Herbology after this, don't you Ron?" Ginny's tone was bright but displayed nothing beyond that.  
  
"No, I have it the class after that." Ron was unsure what Ginny was getting at.  
  
"And you're studying Salamander's Heart now, aren't you?" she continued blithely.  
  
"Yeah?" Ron was now thoroughly confused and he stopped to turn and give Ginny a questioning look. The less than ideal lighting conditions of the dungeon halls cast a dark shadow over her face, making it even harder for Ron to read her expression and discern her intent.  
  
"Do you think you could get me a handful of the seeds?" She looked at him blankly then, her face a smooth mask of simple innocence and patient expectation. Ron felt a dark premonition stirring in the back of his mind but pushed it away. This was just Ginny.  
  
"Why? What do you want with them, Ginny? It's not exactly the best plant for a window box, you know," he joked mildly. Salamander's Heart was well named and had a tendency to catch things on fire if not handled carefully.  
  
Ginny just smiled at him lightly. "Of course I know. I just ran across a charm I want to try out and I need the seeds for that. I'd go ask Professor Sprout for some but I'm sure she wouldn't let me have any unless it were for something school related, and if you're working with them anyway..." She shrugged, smiling and Ron felt his resistances crumbling. She may have acted weird sometimes but she was still his baby sister.  
  
"But how am I going to snitch Salamander's Heart seeds without burning a hole through my pocket?" Ron offered as a last excuse.  
  
Ginny smiled again and reached down into a pocket in her robes. "Don't worry. I thought of that already." When she looked up her face was once again in the light and shone with a happy radiance. She held up a small wooden box that looked like something Hagrid would cobble together. Ron took it, frowning dubiously. "I coated the inside with a fire-resistant laquer we made last year in potions. It should hold the seeds fine."  
  
Ron shrugged and stuck the box in his pocket. What could it hurt? He looked up and smiled at his sister reassuringly. She smiled back and, before he could protest, jumped up and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Thank you," she sang, turning and running off down the hall. Ron smiled again as he continued on his way. It was good to see Ginny chipper again. She'd been acting so quiet lately and part of him had been worried about her without even really knowing it.  
  
When he got down to Snape's offices he found that Malfoy wasn't there yet and so flopped down on the couch to wait. Sinking down into the squashy cushions and laying his head back on the armrest he found that the combination of a restless night and the lingering headache from Trelawney's stuffy classroom had left him feeling drowsy. He slipped his eyes shut and just let his mind wander over the small sounds that filtered into and around the room.  
  
A low moaning sound that meant, even if the storm had passed on, the wind sure hadn't. Soft footsteps from the other room where Snape did most of his work and the clinking of glass against wood, probably a vial of something or other. The muffled, high-pitched drone of voices from somewhere down the hall. His own breathing, a soft whisper of exhalation, and under that, the small thump of his heart against his chest.  
  
"The hour's almost up."  
  
"Huh?" Ron mumbled and opened his eyes blearily to the sight of Draco Malfoy perched on the armrest at the other end of the couch. He sat up slowly, rubbing his hands over his face in an attempt to wake himself up. "Almost up? Why didn't you wake me sooner?"  
  
Malfoy shrugged, looking bored. "The quiet was nice." He stood and sat down next to Ron on the couch. Ron nodded, yawning, and began rolling up his sleeve. "Why are you so tired, anyway?" Malfoy managed to make the question sound completely indifferent.  
  
It was Ron's turn to shrug. "Wasn't able to get much sleep last night." This time Draco nodded, before taking Ron's outstretched arm in his hands, looking very intent.  
  
"What's the matter?" Ron asked after a minute had passed and Malfoy hadn't moved.   
  
The question seemed to snap him out of some kind of daze, however, for he shook his head quickly, drawing in a breath. "Nothing. Just...nothing." He shook his head again before setting his mouth to Ron's arm and Ron closed his eyes as that familiar buzzing current ran up his arm and shoulder. He barely felt the pain. He opened his eyes again, though, as he realized that Malfoy was more tense than he first looked.  
  
"Are you sure you're ok?" he asked, then winced as Draco started up, letting go of his arm.  
  
"I'm fine, Weasley." Malfoy's voice was cold and he frowned. "What do you care?"  
  
Again, Ron shrugged. "You just seem tense."  
  
Malfoy didn't move but Ron could sense him trying to relax. The look on his face was very still, like someone afraid that something bad was going to happen and trying not to think about it. "I didn't get much sleep last night, either," Draco said finally, then turned so that he was facing the door and just sat, waiting.   
  
Ron didn't know what to say to that so just followed suit and turned to stare at the door, letting his thoughts drift. Snape would be in any minute to let them out, or rather to tell them to leave. Ron contemplated that fascinating object that was the door and tried not to think about how odd Malfoy was being today. He was surprised to note that the door was probably one of the nicer accessories of the room. The wood was well polished and of a fine grain. It was bound in simple yet well set brass straps and had brass hinges that, now that he thought about it, never squeaked. The handle was worn from long use but had an elegant latch that...  
  
"I dreamt that I killed you." Ron jumped as Draco's words broke his concentration on the door. He turned to gape at Malfoy who was still staring placidly straight ahead. He wasn't sure what had him more surprised, Malfoys words, or the fact that he had willingly said them aloud. He had never seemed the type to mention something so personal as dreams, especially to someone he had loathed for years such as Ronald Weasley.  
  
Before Ron could say anything, however, Professor Snape strode into the room, his black robes swirling behind him. He raised an eyebrow at the two boys' varied expressions before saying, in a voice like liquid ice, "Hour's up boys. I am glad to see that you have, once again, managed not to kill each other. Now hurry along to your classes." Still in a state of mild shock, Ron rose beside Draco and followed him out the door.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Careful, Ron, you're going to burn yourself." Hermione reached over and stopped Ron's hand before it could stray too close to one of the plants they had just finished potting. Madam Sprout had given them all dragon hide gloves to work in but that didn't protect Ron from catching his sleeve on fire.  
  
"Oh. Thanks, Hermione." Ron pulled his hand back quickly and turned to give Hermione an apologetic smile.  
  
"Don't go drifting off while planting Salamander's Heart seedlings, Ron. It's not safe," Hermione scolded. "What were you thinking about anyway?"  
  
Ron shrugged. "Nothing." In truth he had still been thinking about Malfoy's admission an hour and a half ago. Thinking about someone telling you that they had a dream that they killed you was distracting, especially if you were trying to figure you why they told you in the first place, and whether or not it meant something, and figuring that of course it meant something because Malfoy had actually mentioned it, and so then what did it mean?  
  
"Earth to Ron." Hermione waved her hand in front of Ron's face and he shook himself out of his dazed contemplation. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"  
  
"No, no, I'm fine." Ron waved off Hermione's concerned look. "I just didn't get much sleep last night, that's all." Hermione's concerned frown only deepened, but at that moment Professor Sprout spoke up at the head of the class with instructions for what they were to do next with the young Salamander's Heart seedlings and the matter was dropped.  
  
After Sprout had finished her instructions, Ron worked for several more minutes before he remembered Ginny's request. Setting down his trowel and taking off one of the gloves, he dug around in his pocket for the box she had given him. It was small and roughly square with a tight-fitting lid.  
  
Shuffling things around on the shelf below the greenhouse's work-table, Ron located the large jar that was used to keep the Salamander's Heart seeds, which had been used to grow the class' seedlings. There were several such jars located throughout the greenhouse and Ron was sure that if he took a small handful of the seeds for Ginny they wouldn't be missed.   
  
Removing the lid of the jar, Ron peered inside. It was filled almost to the top with a mixture of about sixty percent ash and forty percent Salamander's Heart seeds, which were small and dark, looking almost like black seed pearls and smelling vaguely of old rosary beads.   
  
Ok, this was the tricky part. He couldn't grab out the seeds with the dragonhide gloves on because they were too clumsy and he would inevitably end up spilling seeds everywhere and, with his luck, somehow end up catching the greenhouse on fire. So he would have to use his bare hands, or at least a bare hand, but, while the seeds weren't exactly on fire or anything, they were fairly hot and he wouldn't be able to hold them for long. Making sure that the lid of Ginny's box was definitely off and the box squarely on the table next to the jar, Ron readied his ungloved hand and prepared to fish out a handful of the ash and seed mixture.  
  
"What are you doing, Ron?" Ron paused with his fingers hovering inches above the top layer of seeds. If he had been cold, this would have been an excellent way to warm up his hands.  
  
"Hermione! You startled me!" Ron accused, looking over his shoulder at her. Hermione just looked at him expectantly so he continued. "Ginny asked me to get her some seeds for a charm she's working on. What can it hurt? It's not like we're about to run out any time soon." Hermione frowned, then bit her lip. Ron could practically see the wheels in her Prefect mind turning, trying to decide whether or not this was something she could let him get away with. She sighed and Ron knew he had won.  
  
Then she frowned again. "She wants the seeds for a charm?" Hermione sounded skeptical. "What charm?"  
  
Ron shrugged. "Didn't say. Just said it was something she came across and wanted to try out." Ron quickly plunged his hand into the jar, scooped up a handful of the mixture, and deposited it neatly in Ginny's box. Hermione hovered over his shoulder, still looking worried.  
  
"That's odd. I've never come across any charms that use Salamander's Heart." Hermione worried her lip some more. Ron just shrugged again, putting the lid back firmly on the box and recapping the jar before shoving it back into its place on the low shelf. "Are you sure she...Oh, dear."  
  
As Hermione hurried past him, Ron looked over to see what had caught her attention and winced. It appeared that, even under Neville's usually competent gardening monitoring, Harry had still fallen into the same trap that Ron had closely avoided and caught he sleeve on fire. Ron sighed as he stuffed Ginny's box back into the pocket in his robes. You'd think that after six years Harry would have gotten used to remembering the spells for dealing with things like that. Instead he was flapping his arm ineffectually, hindering Neville, and then Hermione, from casting the spell to put out the flames.   
  
Ron watched quietly from the sidelines as Harry's arm was finally put out and, its aim accomplished and its fires spread, the seedling that Harry had been working with burst into small flame from the inside out and burned itself into ash. For a moment it looked like a living, plant-shaped coal, glowing red and orange through a coating of grey ash. 'Well, there you go for more seeds to replenish the one's I took for Ginny,' Ron thought to himself. Much like the phoenix, Salamander's Heart only found its regeneration in the ashes of its own destruction. 


	21. Preparation

Author's Note: So, I will admit fully, that this is sort of a filler chapter. It is a necessary chapter, though, and I hope you enjoy it anyway.  
  
  
  
Chapter 21: Preparation - a gathering of strength  
  
  
  
"So, did you get them?" Harry looked up from his dinner to see that Ginny had plopped down in the seat next to Ron and was now leaning over the table, blocking Ron from access to his plate.  
  
"-nn-y! -n -uhdng-," Ron protested, his mouth stuffed full of mashed potato and a large dinner roll. Ginny just grinned myschievously and stayed where she was. Her elbow remained firmly between Ron and his food but Harry saw her give a quick glance in Hermione's direction before turning back to her brother and batting her eyelashes clownishly. Ron gave and exaggerated sigh and, roll still stuffed into one cheek, began digging around in his pockets. Harry glanced at Hermione to see what her take on this was only to find her hidden behind a massive tomb of a book, which appeared to be entitled "Glow-in-the-Dark Radishes," but he couldn't be sure as the words sort of seemed to shift around.  
  
"What's up?" Harry leaned across the table and made to look into the box that Ron had just handed over to Ginny and of which she was now carefully inspecting the contents. Ginny jerked back before he could see, however, the box clutched protectively to her chest and a strange, angry look on her face. She seemed to remember herself, though, for she then relaxed and held the box tipped toward Harry so that he could see what was inside. She remained very still.  
  
Harry's eyebrows went up when he saw that the box just held a bunch of what looked like Salamander's Heart seeds. He gave Ron a baffled look but Ron just shrugged, clearly equally puzzled as to what Ginny would want with the seeds. He looked very happy, though, and Harry was reminded that, for all of their bickering and sibling rivalries, Ron still loved his sister very much.  
  
Harry's curiosity got the better of him. "What do you want with those things?" he asked.  
  
For a second Ginny didn't answer, she'd frozen and her expression become one of a deer in the headlights, but then she raised her chin and sniffed, saying, "None of your business, Harry Potter." Harry laughed in surprise. Ron laughed too, until he caught the look that Ginny was sending him, and then his laughter cut off as abruptly as it had begun.  
  
Ginny rose from the table, absently tucking the box of seeds into a pocket of her robes. "Well, I've got loads of homework. Best be going," she said. "Thank you, Ron." She patted Ron on the shoulder as she left and an odd corner of Harry's mind noticed the way her hand lingered on Ron's arm, like a reminder of some shared secret. What Harry didn't notice was the way that Ginny's hands shook as she walked away from the table, or the way she clutched the pocket of her robes, her fist balled tight around the small wooden box inside.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ginny stumbled slightly as she hurried from the Great Hall. It had almost been too much. She had been glad that Hermione was entrenched in her book. Her questions about the seeds would surely have been much harder to avoid.  
  
Ginny paused, leaning against the wall of the corridor. Her heart was beating so fast. She wasn't sure why that had been so hard, why she had felt so cornered when Harry had asked her that question. It hadn't helped that she'd thought she'd seen Him there. She'd caught sight of Draco Malfoy out of the corner of her eye as he turned to sit down at the Slytherin table and, for a second he had looked so pale, and his eyes so dark and haunted, that she'd thought it was Him. That He'd come to take her early, promise or no promise.  
  
She was ashamed of the panic that had bubbled up within her at that moment. Her soul hung upon the thought of that moment when He would come for her, would set her free, and yet, when she had thought that that moment had come, her entire being had screamed, "Not Yet!" and she had felt her brother's presence beside her like an aching wound that refused to heal.   
  
While it was true that all of her preparations were not yet completed, the fact that she had felt some reluctance, even for a moment, nagged at her. If her goals were ever to be accomplished, she must be an iron tower of resolve. Shaking these thoughts away with an angry toss of her head, she pushed away from the wall and continued off down the hall. There were other things she needed to do before night, and time was growing short.  
  
When she reached the deserted classroom at the far end of one of the south wings, she paused to check that no one was about before ducking inside. Well familiar with the room, Ginny moved confidently through the dark to the far wall and a small, well concealed cupboard set near the floor. Kneeling down, she took out her wand and quietly muttered the charm to unlock it.  
  
Her heart began to beat faster as she reached inside and such a feeling of panic and joy welled up within her that her breath stuck in her throat, forcing her to pause before drawing out the box kept within. At first glance, this box bore a very strong resemblance to the box Ginny had given Ron to put the Salamander's Heart seeds in. It was larger and flatter than the other box but it too had the look of something crudely cobbled together, barely finished and rough about the edges. However, upon closer inspection, one would note that this box was lined with a series of spider thin cracks running seemingly randomly over its surface and that those cracks in turn were caked with some sort of reddish brown substance, giving the odd appearance of strange wooden veins running through the grain of the wood. Ginny set the box on the floor.  
  
Next she drew the box of seeds out of her pocket, placing them beside the larger box, before then producing a needle from the inside of her sleeve. Two drops of blood dripped onto the strange large box and soaked into the wood before the needle was once again put away and Ginny lifted away the box's lid.  
  
Ginny felt a soothing contentment steal over her as she looked down upon everything laid neatly in order before her. It was all right there, or nearly all of it. She had worked so long, carefully, patiently building up the necessary stores, holding herself until the time when it would all come together, when she would be ready to take that next step down her fated path.  
  
Many of the seeds had been ridiculously easy to obtain. Yarrow she had gotten from the stuff that grew along the back wall of their garden at home. Heather grew not far beyond the lake here at school. Others of the seeds had demanded careful study and planning. Nightshade from Professor Snape's secret store. Tears-of-the-Dragon grew only in certain mountain caves and had required a special foray. It had been surprising, really, how easily she had been able to get ahold of the Salamander's Heart seeds. She had resigned herself to another month or two of waiting before she learned that the sixth years were studying it in Herbology. Now she placed the small box of seeds reverently amongst the other boxes and pouches filling the larger box, protected by her blood and the tears of her nightmares.  
  
For several minutes she simply knelt there, breathing in the calm of the darkened room and basking in the sense of power she felt radiating outward from her box of seeds. The time was so near now she could almost taste the wonder of it, sweet and heavy on her tongue like honey, filling her with a liquid fire and tingling through her veins. Yes, it would be soon.  
  
Gently, Ginny reached into the box and pulled out a small, soft pouch, crudely stitched together from cotton and tied with a frayed hair ribbon. So important this one. So shabby and small and vital. Forget-me-not. She smiled wearily and brought the pouch up to her face to rub the soft cotton against her cheek then merely sat back on her heals and contemplated the seeds in her hands.  
  
She didn't even notice the tears until they dripped onto her fingers, but even then she felt too weary to care, too hollowed out and thin. She let her body feel the emotion she no longer could, and felt as though she sat at the end of a long tunnel, separating her forever from the young girl that she used to be. Instead of light at the end of the tunnel, there was only darkness. 


	22. Apprehension

Author's Note: Ok, I'll just say sorry. I couldn't help it. I'll try to get the next one up soon.  
  
  
  
Chapter 22: Apprehension - a moment for truth  
  
  
  
Draco missed the storm. It had suited his mood, all dark and gloomy, all lashing and violent. It had also filled the echoing silence in his head. But the storm had gone and now the weather was unnaturally calm. Lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, Draco felt the calm and silence settling over him like a too warm blanket, smothering him, holding him in a state of conscious lethargy from which he could neither move nor escape into sleep.  
  
He wasn't sure if he wanted to sleep, really. As much as he had tried, he hadn't been able to get last night's dream out of his head and his body was still tense with anxiety that this night would bring similarly disturbing visions.  
  
Draco groaned and rolled over, casting his pillow to the side. It was hopeless. He was never going to get to sleep now. He shivered and sat up, turning sideways on his bed and pulling the blanket up around his shoulders. Despite the smothering quality of the quiet and the still air, the dungeon room was still uncomfortably cold.  
  
He sneered into the darkness. This was so stupid. Huddling in his bed like some child? Afraid to fall asleep? What was he? Five? No, come to think of it, this had been beneath him when he was five. And what was he so scared about anyway? A nightmare? How could you even call a dream like that a nightmare? He'd dreamt he'd killed the Weasel. A dream like that should be cause for celebration, not insomnia.  
  
He sighed and leaned his head back, banging it lightly against the wall. Then his breath caught in his throat as it all came back to him in a rush. That heady feeling as he drained Ron's blood. The sense of wholeness and wellbeing and the horrible crashing guilt and despair. Draco gasped and banged his head back against the wall for real this time but barely even noticed the pain. He didn't understand it! WHY did he feel like that? Why should he care whether one more Weasley lived or died, especially if his death could only improve Draco's own situation. It was all just so stupid.  
  
He wouldn't even admit it to himself, but deep down, Draco knew that a part of him was afraid. Afraid of giving in to his father's imperatives. Afraid of being alone again. Afraid.... Instead of admitting these things to himself he just forced his mind to go blank, staring into the darkness with no promise for sleep, staring at the window, hoping for rain. Of a sudden, he felt a sharp stab of agonizing fear and despair, followed by a smothering sorrow.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Thank God it's stopped raining." Once again Ron Weasley had found himself on the couch in the Gryffindor common room late at night. Once again he was contemplating the weather in a futile attempt to keep his mind occupied with anything other than what had brought him out there. But of course, this wasn't possible. His mind was like a tiger, locked up in a cage, forever circling.  
  
"Damn it! What does it even matter?" Ron turned his head angrily away from the window and stared moodily into the coals. Tonight's nagging thought of choice was Draco Malfoy's confession about his dream, and the way Ron's mind kept coming back to it, kept turning it over and over, searching for a new angle, was driving him mad. What did it matter what Malfoy dreamt about? His own dreams could be bad enough without bringing something like this into it.  
  
Part of the problem was, Ron didn't really know how he felt about the whole issue himself. He knew that he could say, with a certainty, that he didn't want to die. He was only sixteen for Merlin's sake. He hadn't done nearly half the things you were supposed to before you died. But he also had to admit to himself with all honesty that, despite all that, there was a big part of himself that seriously doubted he had anything worth living for. What was the point? His friends and school were great and all, but then after school, then what? All he had to look forward to was seeing Draco bloody Malfoy everyday for the rest of his life and that certainly wasn't making him jump for joy.  
  
Ron groaned and flopped back on the couch. And that was the crux of it. Why in the name of anything worth naming was it that two people who had always loathed each other had to be forced together like this. You'd think if the world had any justice in it at all it would have never come up with such a cruel joke. Part of Ron didn't mind the thought of being killed by Draco for the simple reason that then one of them at least would be put out of their misery.  
  
Ron lately was trying very hard not to kid himself that this wasn't just as much an awful situation for Malfoy as it was for him. Sure, he had to be a walking blood bank for the rest of his life, but Malfoy had to drink it. When Ron really thought about it, he couldn't for the life of him decide which was worse. He was even starting to feel sorry for Malfoy sometimes, which was really getting on his nerves. The pompous git didn't deserve pity.  
  
Of course, the pompous git could seem so lost sometimes. It wasn't that Ron thought Malfoy used his meanness and his snobbish ways as a mask to hide his true self. Ron was absolutely certain that that Was Draco's true self, only, perhaps that was only half of his true self. The other half was probably just as mean and annoying as the first half, only it seemed that it was also angry, and afraid. One half seemed to be following merrily along the way that had been set out for him, while the other half just circled and circled, looking for a way of making his own route through life.  
  
Ron put a pillow over his face and left it there until he felt that he was running out of oxygen. This was WAY too much philosophizing to be doing over one Draco Malfoy. Ron just had to live with his presence, not analyze his psyche. Of course, it would probably be a lot easier to live with Malfoy's presence if he could find a way not to hate his bloody guts.  
  
Ron took the pillow away from his face and stared hard into the fire. He did hate Malfoy's guts, didn't he? Of course, Draco had been a lot easier to handle lately. It was sort of like they were forming some sort of truce about the whole thing, but also there was some sort of strange instinct in Ron taking over. An instinct that insisted that Ron couldn't take on a responsibility like this without caring about it. Without wanting to make things as good as possible. And it really was a responsibility, Ron realized. An important and burdensome responsibility but one that Ron must strive to fulfill as best as he was able, to make sure that the burden fell no heavier than it needed to on anyone else, including Malfoy.  
  
The clock over the mantel stuck twelve thirty and, as if on cue, Ginny padded quietly into the room. A part of Ron was not at all surprised to see her, sleepless people just fit so well into the mood of the night. What was surprising was that she came over and sat down on the couch next to him. Even more so that she leaned into him and lay her head against his shoulder.  
  
"Hey, Ginny," he said softly, slightly bemused by this casual show of affection. "Couldn't sleep either?" Ginny just shook her head against his shoulder and remained quiet, staring vaguely into the fire.  
  
"Ron?" she asked finally, after several minutes of quiet had passed. "Would you do anything for me?"  
  
Ron was startled by the question but answered without hesitation, "Of course, Ginny. You're my sister."  
  
"Would you kill Draco Malfoy for me?"  
  
This startled Ron so much he started up quickly from where he was leaning back on the couch and looked at his sister in shock. She sat up slowly, looking straight back at him, unblinking. "Ginny! What are you talking about?" Ron's mind was a whirl of confusion but he was sure once he got things figured out, he wasn't going to like the answer.  
  
"He's dangerous, Ron. You don't know what he could do." Ginny continued to stare directly at him, her face an unreadable mask.  
  
"Ginny, no, what are you saying. He's not dangerous. Everything's under control." Ron was no closer to understanding what was going on but he was beginning to get the impression that something was very wrong.  
  
"But what if it stopped being under control? What then, Ron?" Ginny's voice had developed a dangerously low edge but her face remained a perfect mask.  
  
Ron, however, was beginning to feel angry. "You can't just go around killing people because they might someday be dangerous. You just can't do that! Why are you asking these things, Ginny? What are you doing?"  
  
Ginny was just shaking her head sadly. When she looked up Ron was struck by the intensity of her gaze. "I thought you loved me, Ron." Her voice shook slightly but still, there seemed to be hard purpose behind it. "But I knew you'd say that. I knew you'd pick the wrong way. Well, now I need you to help me along the right way."  
  
"Ginny, what.." Ron didn't know what to think. The look in Ginny's eyes was scaring him. And yet, she looked so vulnerable and fragile sitting there on the couch that all he longed to do was comfort her. To tell her that everything would be ok.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Ron." Tears glistened in Ginny's eyes. "You betrayed me but still you're the only one that I can trust." Ron's mouth just gaped in bewilderment. With tears now running freely down her face, Ginny raised her wand and leveled it at Ron.  
  
"Imperio." Everything seemed to fade. 


	23. Brutilization

Author's Note: Ok, so this chapter is a bit strange and, yes, it's in present tense format (bear with me), but I hope it will help you see. As ever, I hope you enjoy and thank you so much to those who reviewed.  
  
  
  
chapter 23: BRUTILIZATION - betrayal of the last trust  
  
  
  
This feels like a dream, and every time I remember that it's not, a part of me starts to scream inside. We're walking down a hall. I don't even know where we are anymore. It seems like we've been walking forever. Of course, time doesn't move the same when you're trapped in your own body.  
  
i have to get Away!  
  
I feel like I'm moving through molasses, or a thick fog. Everything seems to be happening in slow motion so that the details of every action are burned into my brain. I lift my foot and take a step. I feel the jarring impact of my bare foot against the cold stone floor. I hear the slap of my toes echo down the hallway. I take a step. The flame of a candle dances gracefully in our wake, belling and flickering, dimming and brightening. It casts jittering shadows along the walls and the pale curve of her cheek. The untouched tracks of her tears gleam briefly in the candlelight. She lifts her hand and tucks an auburn strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes flicker backwards and up to look at me, shining like flat black pools, bottomless and secret. Her finger crooks, beckoning me further down the hallway.  
  
why are you doing this?  
  
I lift my foot and take a step. My mind is a jumble of confusion, franticly clawing at the inside of my head, franticly searching for a way out. And everything seems to be moving too fast. We were in the common room, talking on the couch by the fire, and now we're here, moving swiftly down a dark hallway and I don't know where we're going or why or what will happen when we get there. All I know is that I don't really know her and I'm trapped. She has me trapped, this Thing that couldn't possibly be Ginny because I love her, because she is good and would never do anything like this, because...She's been so quiet lately, and for so long. Sometimes she looks at you and you forget where you are because all you can see is the burning intensity in her eyes, the pent up WILL. And that's how she can do this, that's how my will has lost itself and gotten tangled into hers. That's all she is anymore.  
  
Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy  
  
I feel panic rising within me in a terrible tide. I'm drowning in a sea of my own fear and I can't fight back, and because I can't fight back. I'm so weak and I see her finger beckon me down the hall and I follow, my steps as smooth as glass, not a hint of struggle. I'm not as strong as Harry. I'm not as good as he is at fighting back, at asserting my will. It doesn't help that it's my baby sister that has me in thrall, that moves me like some gigantic wooden doll to her whim.  
  
i thought you loved me  
  
And now I see a door. Strange that it should stand out. The hallway that we've been moving down is lined with old classrooms, dusty and drafty with disuse. Why would this door stand out? But I know it's our goal. As though she's planted an invisible map in my head I know that through that door lies our destination, and the answer. If only I can not walk through that door, then maybe everything will be ok, maybe the nightmare will end and I'll wake up in my bed like I always do, sweating in the dark with the soft breathing of my friends around me.  
  
this is not a dream  
  
The door is looming closer, the simple wood and glass window of a classroom door and I feel like I'm about to walk through the gateway to Hell. I see my hand reach out, pale and bony against the dark cloth of my pajamas. The metal handle is cold and worn smooth and fits perfectly in the palm of my hand as I pull the door open for her. She doesn't even bother to look at me as she walks through. Her eyes are shining with a concentrated intensity and it is as though she isn't even aware of my presence, as minimal as it might be. I'm afraid for her.  
  
Ginny!  
  
Don't go in there!  
  
Unaware of my silent plea, she steps softly into the room and begins to stride over to the opposite wall. I close the door behind us as my panicked mind beats futily against the bonds of the spell. The lock gives a small click and I turn away from the door.  
  
now  
  
My panic is so strong it is palpable, frenzied and concentrated. If I can only hold onto my thoughts long enough I might break the spell, I might be free. These thoughts strengthen me. I'm walking toward her, my steps raising clouds of dust in the still air. Free, I could be free. I stumble. She turns sharply then, her eyes hard and focused, and I see that she hasn't forgotten me at all. In one hand she's holding a box. In the other, a knife. The faint light cast through the window in the door glints cruelly along the edge.  
  
so sharp  
  
like a kiss  
  
like teeth and fangs  
  
The shock is enough to derail me. My focus is lost as I feel myself slipping into memories of teeth and blood, of pain and hate. My step evens and I walk slowly over to stand before my sister.  
  
ready  
  
She hands me the knife, handle first. I take it, and hold out my other hand for the box. It is a solid weight and nearly warm. Now I wait. Her will inside me tells me that we are not yet ready to begin. Though the knife is sharp. Though the box is full.  
  
I can wait.  
  
The moon shines then in through the dusty window and Ginny turns away from me. Her robe drops to her feet, hissing faintly along her skin and landing in a dark puddle on the floor. She's so beautiful and the anxiety rises up in me once more.   
  
i should never see her like this. i should never see my sister like this!  
  
But her spell holds me fast and I stand there quietly, facing her, seeing her in her beauty and her aloof coldness. It is a wound on my soul, her beauty. I love her so much and I am watching her fall.  
  
won't you come back to me?  
  
She turns then, kneeling down on the floor and spreading her robe out like a sheet. She lays down on it on her belly, her eyes like clear, cold death. I kneel beside her. The floor is soft with dust and the moonlight reflects off of her pale skin.  
  
no.  
  
I set the box down and bring the knife up, pressing the edge into my fingertip. As my blood falls onto the wooden lid, I feel the box sort of solidify. Not that it wasn't solid before, but now it just seems more real, its presence is stronger, it is more threatening. I lift the lid and look carefully at the neatly ordered packets and boxes. Everything is here. I wipe the knife off on Ginny's robe, removing all traces of my blood.  
  
No!  
  
My mind is skittering around frantically now. If only there was some way to make this stop. To keep it from happening. I'm beginning to know what I'm to do next and I CAN'T. How could I ever do something like that?! I look into her eyes and see the hard determination in them. I haven't the will to fight against that and I position the knife for the first cut.  
  
i love you  
  
The blade slices downward, cutting smoothly into the skin of her shoulder. Blood wells up from the wound and spills downward along her arm in a crimson streak. As my right hand holds the knife steady, smoothly carves the pattern I know she wants into her flesh, my other hand reaches for the packet of yarrow seeds.  
  
beautiful in red  
  
I focus on my breathing, soft and steady, and watch in horrified stasis as my hands continue wielding the knife, continue carving the pattern into her arm and shoulder. Strange whorls and symbols take shape beneath the blade. Her skin is so soft but quickly becomes slick with her blood.  
  
i can't do this anymore i can't...  
  
I pause and carefully set the knife to the side. This pattern is complete and it is time to fill it in. I pour out the yarrow seeds into my bloody hand where they quickly stain red and clump together. I am reminded of Trelawney making us read tealeaves in Divinations and wonder what fate is spelled out spilled across my palm.  
  
not that.  
  
Carefully, delicately, I take a pinch of the seeds and press them into one of Ginny's cuts. I feel her flinch beneath my touch, but she remains still. I am planting her arm with yarrow, embedding the seeds beneath her skin. They become part of her, alive and thriving within her.  
  
ginny!  
  
Too soon I finish. My hand is empty of seeds and the blood is starting to crust along her cuts, flaking away from her skin as my hands move over her. Her shoulder reminds me of the box of seeds, lined and signed in old blood, imprinted with new identity. I look briefly at her face and I see how she is going away from me. Even now she is soaking in this new part of herself, letting it print itself on her soul and destroy another small piece of the Ginny I know. Next is the nightshade.  
  
no  
  
no.  
  
No  
  
My hand reaches again for the knife. Blade and hilt alike are crusted with her blood and for a moment I am afraid it will slip in my hands. Taking a firmer grip, I set the tip to the skin of her lower back. She lets out a small sound, like a wounded animal, as the blade bites into her flesh and it's almost enough. I feel my protectiveness of her surging to the forefront and it is almost enough to set me free. But my hand wobbles as I cut and I beat that part of me down. As much as I want with every fiber of my being to just STOP, I can't risk the fight. The fight would make me clumsy. The fight could make me cut her too deep. The fight could make me lose her when it is as much her as myself that I would be fighting for. The knife glides over her spine, etching perfect sigils into her lower back. The blood pools freely along her sides and I feel so afraid. There is nothing I can do, only cut her and cut her as perfectly as I can.  
  
carefully  
  
move only Carefully  
  
If I were myself I know I would be weeping right now. How can I be doing this to her? how How will I live with myself knowing that I have done this to her. The world held no horror so profound until I was forced to hurt one I love. I love her so. But I hate her. How can she make me do this? Doesn't she know that it will tear me apart inside? That it IS tearing me apart inside?  
  
no no  
  
careful  
  
The pattern is all too soon complete. Her back and sides are awash in her blood. My hands are stained red with her blood. The nightshade seeds come out of their box and I feel the distance between us grow as I press them into her flesh.  
  
why can't this Stop!  
  
But it never stops. It seems it never stops. For the rest of my life I am kneeling beside my sister, carving into her flesh with a knife and feeling her warm blood run from her body, laying the designs for this otherness into her skin. My silent voices have screamed themselves hoarse before it is over. My eyes have glazed and I have retreated as far I my mind will let me from this horror springing forth from my hands. Almost done and it is the salamander's heart.  
  
of course  
  
My heart aches and grows cold as I remember her innocent smile as she asked me to get these for her. I will never forgive myself.  
  
Even then, you were turning into this monster.  
  
The patterns for these seeds trace the entire length of her spine and flow away along her ribs, wrapping around until the design comes to encircle her heart. The shock of her naked form has worn off by now and I can only weep in silence and dry tears as I watch myself carving this hideous evil between her breasts. Slowly and slowly, all of her beauty has been covered over by cuts and scars. With this last design I see the beauty and spark that was Ginny winking out. It fades and flickers and then is lost beneath the blood.   
  
goodbye.  
  
don't go.  
  
Pressing the seeds into her skin and over her bones, I watch an other, darker light rise within her flesh to take its place. It is like watching her blood catch on fire, watching the fire consume her and hollow her out so that all that lies before me is a strange shell of patterns and human form.  
  
there.  
  
My task complete, I set the knife in the box, now empty except for a single packet and sit back on my heels. She sits up then, and I see her watching me from behind eyes changed by this dark magic, as I am watching her from behind my own magic bound eyes. We regard each other, me still and immobile, pacing and weeping inside my head, she bloody and calm, sitting on a robe soaked through with her own blood.  
  
we are a pair pathetic in our silence.  
  
When she speaks, I feel the shock of it ripple along my skin, even if I cannot outwardly show it. Sound other than the small rustle of seeds and clothing are as alien to this time as the sun shining at night.  
  
"I'll finish this, Ron." I feel myself go cold at this. There is no warmth in her voice, no hint of the sister I love and who loved me.   
  
Carefully, she lifts the knife. The blood crusted along its length smears along her fingertips and some of it oozes over her knuckles. She appears not to notice. Instead, she brings the knife to her temple, drawing it sharply backward into her hairline so that blood runs down her cheek and drips lewdly from her chin. I am still. Even my mind, pacing as it was, has gone still and focuses solely on her, on this moment and final sacrifice. Her hand comes forward and the knife moves towards me. As she cuts into the skin along my head, I feel my consciousness tightening like a bow about to snap, sharpening down to a fine point along that single line of sensation. I stare into her eyes and watch as a tear spills, unnoticed, down her cheek. She looks stoic, her face a mask in stone.  
  
"You must always remember me." My fear at this statement is so acute that I watch in a daze as she pours the last remaining seeds into her hand. Forget-me-not.  
  
of course  
  
Carefully, and with such delicacy that my heart breaks for her all over again, she draws out a pinch of the seeds and presses them along the cut against my temple before doing the same for herself. I feel myself fading out. That part of me that paced and watched and worried and wept is beginning to drift, to unfocused and in its place I am being filled with a great sorrow, nameless and timeless it permeates my being. Before I lose my focus entirely I look once more into her eyes and know now, for a certainty, that she is gone. Whatever it was that once made Ginny that sparking presence that was my sister, she has swept it all away and dusted up any last hint of its existence. The tears have dried on her cheek and now all that I see in her eyes is a look of hard and cold determination. Of pure will.  
  
In the darkened tunnel that is all that is left of what I see, I watch her raise her up her hands and throw back her head. The muttering of her incantation is lost in the cotton that fills my ears. The last thing I see is my sister, burning from the inside with a dark flame, her cuts on fire and writhing across her skin, the last drops of drying blood turning to ash.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
In the dark night, Harry Potter was awakened by a small sound. A harshly indrawn breath and a shuddering exhalation. His mind fuzzy and unfocused, he eventually made out the sounds of someone weeping. He turned onto his side and looked across the darkened room to where he saw Ron huddled in a corner by his bed. He was curled up with his knees clutched to his chest and his body heaved with great, wracking sobs.  
  
"Ron?" Instantly, Ron went still. He barely made a sound and in the dark it looked as though he wasn't breathing at all.  
  
"Go to sleep, Harry." Ron's voice came out strangely normal. The confusion was too much for Harry's sleep muddled mind and the suggestion too appealing. Two seconds after the words were uttered he had drifted back into his dreams. 


	24. Rejection

Author's Note: Hmmm, so yes. I realize that the last chapter was probably a bit confusing and or disconcerting. Unfortunately you're going to have to wait for the answers to be revealed as, who would want to remember that. Certainly not Ron.  
  
  
  
Chapter 24: REJECTION - a memory in denial  
  
  
  
Harry awoke the next morning with the sense that something was wrong, but he couldn't quite remember what. A vague part of his mind suggested that it had something to do with Ron but when he turned over to ask him about it he found Ron's bed empty and neatly made, an oddity in and of itself. Apparently Ron had already gone down to breakfast.  
  
Harry sighed and flopped over in bed before finally making himself get up. Whatever it was wasn't making itself any clearer, so should wait just fine until later when his brain was working again. Still bleary eyed and grumbling, he dressed quickly and hurried out of the room. If Ron had already left for breakfast, that was a good indication that he had best hurry or miss it before classes started.   
  
He was surprised, then, when he came down from the boys dormitory, to find Hermione studying quietly in the common room. She was always the first up and usually went to breakfast with the first of them to rise. If Ron had gone down already, she would have gone with him. Harry was perplexed. "Hey, Hermione. Where's Ron?"  
  
"Morning, Harry." Hermione looked disapproving of his lack of proper greeting. "You're the first person I've seen all morning. It's only 7:00. Isn't Ron still sleeping?"  
  
"No, his bed's all made and everything. Is it really only seven?" Harry yawned, regretting his decision to get up right away.  
  
Hermione had that perpetual worried line etched into her brow already. "That's odd. Well, we'd best get down to breakfast. See if he's there. Though he would have to have been up quite early for me to have missed him." Harry tried very hard not to think about just how early that must have been as he stifled another yawn and shuffled after Hermione and out the portrait hole. When they got down to breakfast, Ron was not there.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ron lay on the couch in Snape's offices unmoving, his eyes fixed on the wall across the room where it appeared a mouse had made a nest behind a chink in the stones. He had woken up several minutes ago and, despite the fact that he had no recollection of coming down here or even why he would do such a thing, he simply could not find it within himself to care. He thought about getting up and going back to Gryffindor tower, but something about that thought just hurt too much and he stayed where he was. Easier just to lay here. Easier to pretend the world didn't exist and he had nothing he needed to worry about. Easier simply not to think. At all. About anything. A great weight seemed to be pressing him into the couch, keeping him from moving or getting up, keeping him from feeling. It was better that way. Much better. Not to feel anything at all.   
  
Laying there, staring at the wall but seeing only nothing, Ron let his mind drift over inconsequentials. The different shades of grey on the walls, old books he had read, how he hated that his Christmas sweaters were always maroon, whether the Canons had any hope of winning this year, and how he hadn't seen Pig for a couple of days and wondered where he'd got to. Into these musings a cold voice intruded, making Ron open his eyes.  
  
"What, may I ask, are you doing here, Mr. Weasley?" Professor Snape stood over him, looking perturbed.  
  
"I can't remember." Ron's voice sounded far away, even to his own ears. With a great effort of will he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He would have yawned, too, if he'd had the energy but he just felt drained, empty and completely devoid of energy or feeling. He wasn't even worried about the detention Snape was sure to assign him. In fact, Snape was giving him that how-much-detention-can-I-heap-on-this-time look now. He had his lips compressed, an angry line sat between his eyebrows, and his eyes held that gleam of special pleasure he reserved for the times he could hand out punishments to Gryffindor. Snape may have agreed to help him in allowing the use of his office. He had never, and would never, agreed to like one Ronald Weasley.   
  
Ron shifted his hands restlessly in his lap and Professor Snape glanced down. The hard smirk shifted almost imperceptibly and Ron saw the annoyance give way to something else. "Merlin's beard, boy! You've got blood on your hands." Ron jerked and clutched his hands to his chest as Professor Snape reached towards him. No, no. It couldn't be. He'd washed it all away. He remembered that. The shower and the water so hot that it burned as it flooded over him, and the cold, white tiles that washed red. The soap and bright pain as he'd scrubbed and the hard tile pressed against his back as he'd sat for what seemed like an hour letting it all wash away. It was gone. It was gone. He'd washed it away. Even his memory felt clean and fuzzy and only the hard soap and water remained.  
  
"Let me see!" The sharp annoyance was back in Snape's voice and his touch was none too gentle as he jerked Ron's hands towards him. As his hands were turned over and the sleeves pushed back, Ron saw a bright smudge of blood along his thumbnail and another soaking into his right sleeve, but his hands and arms on the whole appeared untouched. Muttering under his breath, Snape pulled out his wand and whispered a hasty finite incantatem and Ron watched as the wounds, old and new, swam into view on his arm, like a fuzzy picture coming into focus. Mostly it was just scabs and few tender, pink areas, but one set of bite marks appeared to have torn and was sluggishly leaking blood across his arm. It was smeared, some of it already old and dried a pale, crusty brown.  
  
Ron glanced up to see that Snape's mouth had once again pressed itself into a hard line, his scowl back in full force. "You haven't been taking decent care of yourself." Snape's voice sounded strange, as if he were forcing it reluctantly past clenched teeth. "You can't just hide it and expect it to take care of itself." Ron shrugged uncomfortably, still feeling less than energetic. He'd been living with the bite marks for nearly a month now and they hadn't given him any problems before. The ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away approach had actually been working pretty well.  
  
Snape gave him one more long, angry stare before rising smoothly and striding from the room, his robes, as ever, billowing behind him. Ron had barely begun to stand before Snape was back, a vial of something dark and greenish held clenched in one hand. "One drop on each wound to seal out infection and allow it to heal. I expect you can handle that much yourself." Snape handed him the vial with a raised eyebrow. "And from now on I expect to see you in here once a day, and once a day only. Do I make myself clear?" Ron nodded. "Good." And with that, Snape swept once more from the room, leaving a slightly frightened but mostly bemused Ron in his wake.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A part of himself was working very hard not to see Ginny as Ron walked into the Great Hall and over to the Gryffindor table to join Harry and Hermione for breakfast. He'd felt on edge ever since he'd left Snape's offices and headed over to Gryffindor tower for a quick change. Now, as he hurried over to his breakfast, his unconscious mind allowed his eyes to skip over the bright red head of hair a few seats down. He felt unsettled and uneasy and unconsciously gripped the vial of potion Snape had given him and that was now residing safely in his pocket. He needed to remember to be careful to keep his sleeves down today until after lunch. Snape had left the glamour undone and Ron had felt too fumble fingered after he left his offices to make an attempt of it left-handed.  
  
"Hey, Ron. Where've you been?" Harry looked slightly annoyed but mostly sleepy as Ron took his place beside him.  
  
"Yes, Ron. We've been waiting down here for half an hour." Hermione's tone was reproving but on her face she wore her perpetual worried frown.  
  
"I..." Ron's mind groped blindly for a plausible explanation for his absence. "I had to go talk to Professor Snape," he spit out finally, "about my detentions."  
  
"At seven o'clock in the morning?" Hermione was clearly incredulous and Harry was looking at him with patent disbelief. Unable to come up with anything else that sounded remotely convincing, Ron just shrugged and began concentratedly attacking his toast. After a few moments of confused silence Harry and Hermione went back to eating their breakfast as well.  
  
After a few minutes of eating, however, Ron felt his momentum winding down. The toast tasted like so much concrete and the jam seemed only to be contributing to that effect. The sounds of the dining hall seemed to be receding from him and all that was left was a warm silence filling his ears like cotton. The color leeched out of his vision but for the red smear across his toast and, deep down, at the very center of his being, Ron shuddered. He felt that great weight from earlier settling itself once more across his shoulders and a horrible lethargy seemed to slow time down to a crawl. A sharp motion to his right caught at his attention and he turned in time to see Ginny get up from the table. He watched her walk to the doors, a hard lump forming in the back of his throat, and he had to bite his lip to keep from almost crying out.  
  
"Ron." The voice snapped his attention back around and he was confronted again with Hermione's concerned face. "Are you ok? You're white as a sheet."  
  
"I'm fine." The effort of will to get out those two words was more than he had ever thought possible.  
  
Hermione's frown stayed firmly fixed in place. "You look like you've seen..." she faltered, "..something bad anyway." When Ron didn't answer, her eyes flicked behind him toward the doors leading out of the hall. "Did you ever find out what Ginny wanted those seeds for?"  
  
Ron bit his lip harder. He didn't want to remember. The fog in the back of his mind suggested only blood and pain. He didn't remember. Nevertheless, he felt himself becoming nasseated and it was all he could do to get out a small "no" before bolting from the table and fleeing the Great Hall in search of the nearest toilet. 


	25. Depression

Author's Note: Ok, I'm really sorry it's taken so very long to get this chapter up, but that's what back to school will do to you. From now on it'll probably be pretty long between chapters so I apologize ahead of time. In any case, thanks to the lovelies for the reviews. I'm a glutton for input. Hope you like this next chapter.  
  
  
  
chapter 25: DEPRESSION - the weight of all fears  
  
  
  
Hermione was looking worried. So what else was new? Of course, when your best friend turns white and runs from the room looking like he's about to throw up, that tends to give you a license for looking worried. But then, Hermione was also biting her lip and looking almost guilty, which was making Harry worried. She'd found something, and, by the look on her face, Harry was pretty sure he didn't want to know what it was.  
  
"Do you think we should go after him?" Harry couldn't tell if she meant it or was just stalling from saying whatever it was she was going to say. He shook his head.  
  
"Let him be sick in private. Who wants an audience for that sort of thing?" Hermione still looked undecided and she made a helpless gesture with her hands but eventually subsided back into her seat. Harry tried to pretend his potatoes were interesting.  
  
"This can't go on, Harry!" Hermione's voice had an almost frantic edge to it and Harry looked up, his brow twisted so closely together that he felt like he was going to get a headache if he couldn't relax soon. "I mean," Hermione's hands waved helplessly some more, "he's got to tell us what's going on! He can't expect us not to worry. Clearly something is wrong, and.." She stopped, looking just about ready to chew a hole through her bottom lip.  
  
Harry sighed, bracing himself. "What did you find, Hermione?" he asked resignedly.  
  
"I...I think I found the glamour Ron is using."  
  
"Huh?" Harry was confused. Where had that come from? So far this didn't sound nearly as bad as Hermione's worried looks had been suggesting.  
  
"Remember? When I found him in the library that night and he was looking up glamours?" Hermione was now back into her annoyed, informative persona. "I wasn't able to get a look at the page he was on, but yesterday I overheard Malfoy casting something on Ron."  
  
"Malfoy cast a curse on Ron?!" Harry's voice came out louder than he had intended and he looked around guiltily to see if anyone had heard. Aside from a few raised eyebrows from Seamus and Dean his exclamation seemed to have gone mostly unnoticed.  
  
"Harry!" Hermione hissed. "Malfoy didn't cast a curse on Ron! They were paired together in Transfiguration. Don't you remember?!" Harry did his best to look sheepish but was mostly still confused. Hermione sighed, exasperatedly. "In any case, I heard Malfoy cast some spell, though what Malfoy has to do with it I don't know, but I think it was the glamour Ron was looking up the other night. I wasn't able to hear all of it but I think I finally found it this morning before you came down." She reached into her bag and pulled out the book Harry had seen her reading at dinner the night before. This time the title wasn't so hard to make out and Harry saw "Glamours" written right across the top, followed by something else he didn't catch as Hermione was already turning to a marked page.  
  
"Here it is." Hermione now had the book open flat in front of her and began reading intently. "'Valitudine Erroris: This spell, while not much used nowadays, was once commonly invoked to give the appearance of good health. It was most especially employed by soldiers before a battle in order to hide their wounds from the enemy, but found varied uses among others as well for any instance in which the appearance of good health was of importance.' There." Hermione looked at Harry sharply but he felt like he was missing something and knew the confusion was showing on his face. "He's sick! Don't you see?" It all fell into place and Harry felt a sick hurt take up residence in the pit of his stomach. "He's sick but he doesn't want us to know he's sick. That's why he's been looking so pale lately, and eating weird things. That's probably why he had to go talk to Snape this morning, not some stupid thing to do with his detentions with Malfoy."  
  
"But why didn't you tell me this this morning, Hermione?" Hermione just bit her lip and Harry plowed ahead. "And if he's sick then why wouldn't he just go to Madam Pomfrey instead of Snape? And how do we know this has got nothing to do with Malfoy? How do we know that he's not the one who made Ron sick in the first place and is now trying to cover it up? Malfoy and Snape could be in on it together." By now Hermione looked to be almost in tears and Harry forcibly restrained himself from continuing his headlong ranting. Getting hysterical wasn't going to help anything.  
  
Hermione sniffed and wiped the back of her hand over her eyes. She lifted her chin, trying to summon back some of her usual hauteur. "Don't be ridiculous, Harry." She sounded miserable. "Why would Snape and Malfoy plot to make Ron sick? You're just being paranoid." She looked down at her barely touched breakfast and began reorganizing her eggs with the end of her fork.  
  
"But if he's sick, why won't he tell us?" Harry felt weak and frustrated. He found his strength in his friends and Ron was his best friend, but he seemed so distant this year, like he was slipping away to some other world where Harry could neither follow nor help.  
  
"I don't know," Hermione whispered. And with that she stood, still worrying her lip, and began to gather up her books. Harry followed suit and a few minutes found them trudging silently down the hall to their first class. They passed Ginny on the way there and Harry thought about asking her what she knew. He decided she probably wouldn't tell them, especially if what Hermione said was true and she had shut the door in her face that last time she went looking for information. When they got to History of Magic Ron was already there and sitting in his seat. He looked pale.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When Ron was able to tear himself away from the soothing cool of the porcelain bowl he dragged himself over to the sink to wash his face. He felt like shit. Numb shit, but still shit. He turned on the faucet and cupped his hands beneath the water until they were brimming over. The water felt cool and real on his face. A bead of water dripped from his nose as he filled his hands again and he closed his eyes as he let the water run over his head and down the back of his neck. He turned off the water and picked up his books from the bench. His mouth still tasted sour and he was sure that his breath smelled bad, but he needed to get to class.  
  
The halls seemed over-crowded with unrecognizable people as he made his way across the castle to History of Magic. Their faces were nothing more than pale blurs against the dark of their robes. Their eyes just black holes in their heads. Ron felt alone. He felt like he was swimming through a sea of nameless faces belonging to people who couldn't care less whether he lived or died. In many ways this was probably true. He felt sad and the weight he was coming to expect was settling heavily on his chest.  
  
When he passed her in the hall, he almost didn't see her, but something inside of him noticed and he glanced up from the floor and into her dark eyes. His stomach lurched and, briefly, he squeezed his eyes shut, though against what he couldn't have said. Her smile was warm and her hand was cold on his as she brushed by him. "Don't forget me," she sang in a quiet whisper before disappearing into the crowd. The words, "I won't," sprang to his lips like obedient puppies, but he held them back. He wasn't sure why he would say them anyway. She was his sister.  
  
When he got to the classroom he was mostly unsurprised to find that he was the first one there. He was never early to classes, but the strangeness of the change seemed to fit well with the day and his mood. Why shouldn't he be early, anyway? What did it matter? He felt tired and he slumped down into his seat with a weary sigh. What he really wanted was to go back to bed, back to that warm place where nothing mattered and he could just not exist for a few hours. That sounded nice. Resisting the urge to put his head down on the desk, he sat as straight as he could, stared at the blackboard, and concentrated on not falling asleep. It would be several minutes before class actually started, but it wasn't like it was going to get any more interesting than this anyway, and if he fell asleep now he knew the coming of others into the room would not wake him up.  
  
When Harry and Hermione came into the room he did his best not to look at them. He didn't feel like talking to anyone. Besides, he knew what they would say: "Ron, are you alright?", "Ron, why won't you tell us what's going on?" He pushed away the guilt that began to gnaw its way up from inside. They were his friends and he should tell them, but he just didn't want to talk about it. For the thousandth time he wished he could just pretend that everything was normal and the most he had to worry about was who would win house cup this year.   
  
Class was about to begin and the last of the class was filing in. Harry and Hermione were sitting behind him. He could hear small 'psst' sounds that meant they were trying to get his attention but he ignored them. Ron's mood had gone from gloomy to downright black and, as Binns walked up to the chalkboard and began methodically writing up the lecture notes for the day, Ron just sat slumped in his chair and brooded, not even bothering to lift his quill and scribble a few notes. He remembered the looks and the whispered conversations Harry had used to stir up, and still did on occasion. He had used to envy that. That attention and regard that meant Harry was someone special. But now he thought he knew it for the curse that it really was. He thought about people finding out, his secret, his handicap and leashing to the one person he had loathed for the past five years. He could practically hear the whispered remarks now, could almost see the looks, pitying, and calculating, and reproachful. Nothing he could think of seemed like it would be worse than that. He couldn't bare the thought. No one must know.  
  
He sighed, shifting in his chair, and tried to concentrate on the lecture. It was even more boring than anticipated and Ron marveled distantly that Hermione never fell asleep in this class. Really, you could only listen to so many accounts of this goblin war or that before they just all blurred together. Ron decided to try jotting down every fifth word Binns said to see if it would keep him awake. It would at least make for some interesting notes.   
  
He picked up his quill but then just stared at the parchment in front of him listlessly. It seemed like it was mocking him, a tiny, sarcastic laugh bubbling up from the edges of the paper, so quiet that only Ron could hear it, but insistent and creepy, getting under his skin. He shook his head and told it to stop playing tricks on him. The mental laughter stilled but the mocked feeling continued with a new element of pity thrown in. He seemed to see eyes, then, staring up at him from his parchment, a hard, cold gaze accompanied by a strong sense of familiarity. The weight pressing against his chest grew stronger, began to squeeze his heart and he shut his eyes tight, choking back a sob. Such sorrow and despair washed over him then, that he almost couldn't breathe.  
  
He drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes, trying to steady himself. When he looked down at his parchment once more he was relieved to find it empty of any ghosts or bad feelings. But then it hit him. Empty. Missing. Something was missing, but it took him a moment to figure out what it was. The realization, when it hit, jerked him to his feet. His chair spilled backwards behind him and crashed to the floor with a loud bang, drawing the attention of the entire class, including a befuddled and owlishly blinking Professor Binns.  
  
"Umm...Ah..." Ron stammered, his mind fighting against his panic. "May I be excused?" he finally choked out. Before Binns could frame a reply, and catching a small "Ron, are you ok?" from Hermione, he turned and stumbled as quickly as his shaky legs would take him out of the room. As soon as he got into the hall, he dropped all pretense of calm and began sprinting toward the dungeons. Once there he burst without knocking into Snape's classroom, scaring several first years and initiating the spilling of two of the brewing potions across the dungeon floor. "Where is he?"  
  
Snape turned from his place at the head of the classroom, clearly irritated. He was scowling fiercely and looked fit to take out his temper on the nearest person on hand. "Mr. Weasley," he barked, "Wait in my office," before wading in amongst the milling first years and shouting instructions for cleaning up the spilled mess. 


	26. Frustration

Author's Note: Those who felt like the last chapter didn't really go anywhere will probably feel similarly about this one. I apologize but there's not much to be done about it. In terms of events written, it's looking like Tuesday is going to be a very, very long day.  
  
  
  
chapter 26: Frustration - bound hands  
  
  
  
Harry collapsed back into his chair from his half standing position, then snapped shut the jaw that had fallen open in shock. When Ron had jumped up from his chair like that, Harry had felt his heart leap into his throat, fearing that something must be terribly wrong. Ron had been looking paler and more listless all class period, and now Harry worried that he was really much more sick than he and Hermione had first supposed. Ron had looked almost panicked to get out of the room and, to Harry's shock, he had seen a small trail of blood running from under Ron's sleeve and over the back of his hand. Why was Ron bleeding? Harry flashed on some of his dream from the night before. Something to do with Ron crying, and blood on his hands. He pushed the image away, disturbed. It was just another bad dream.  
  
Soon, the class quieted down, though a faint buzz of whispers ran continually in the background, and Binns returned to the lesson. Harry ran over possible worst case scenarios as the last minutes of class ticked by. Beside him Hermione was staring fixedly at the blackboard, but her quill lay unmoving in her hand, still poised over her parchment and slowly dripping ink onto her notes. Binns' lecture was dragging on forever. It was like an impossibly slow and painful torture, some sort of ancient method invented by the Chinese then unearthed by Death Eaters and let loose into the school system.  
  
When the bell rang signaling the end of class Harry practically jumped out of his chair and snatched up his books and parchment from the desk. Hermione followed suit and together they were out the door in under five seconds. Not sure what to do or where to look first, they dashed off to their next class, Potions. When they got there, the first year class before them was still straggling out and they had to shove their way through the younger witches and wizards to make it to the door.  
  
They looked around the class room, seeing no one and nothing but a few leaking cauldrons and a bunsen burner thoughtlessly left on. Hermione absently shut if off with a flick of her wand. Harry was about to suggest that they run and check the infirmary before class started when a door slammed off to their left and they turned to see an angry looking Professor Snape exiting his offices followed by an equally angry looking Ron Weasley.  
  
To Harry's utter shock, Snape stalked over to Hermione, his scowl deepening until it was almost a snarl, and said coldly, "Keep the class in order until we get back, Miss Granger. I'm holding you responsible. If they haven't started on their potions and aren't working quietly when I step into this room, you may be sure I'll deduct fifty points from Gryffindor." With that he turned sharply and headed for the door. Harry caught Ron's arm as he moved to follow the Professor.  
  
"Ron, what's going on?"  
  
"Not now, Harry." Still obviously angry, Ron shrugged out of Harry's grip and strode after Snape and out the door. Stunned, Harry turned and looked at Hermione, whose capabilities seemed to have been reduced to opening and closing her mouth like a fish trapped in a bowl. Her eyes were wide and unblinking. She was supposed to get the Slytherins to behave?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
For the first time in his life, Ron found himself on Snape's side in an argument. He and the Professor stood side by side in front of a large, wooden desk cluttered with odd bits and scraps of magical objects and behind which sat Headmaster Dumbledore. Currently the Headmaster's expression was implacable, and his voice stern. "At the risk of sounding repetitive, I will say once more and once more only, Mr. Malfoy has taken his son out of school for the day for a private family affair and has forbidden me to tell anyone where they have gone." Snape and Ron both began to protest and Dumbledore held up a hand to silence them. "He has promised to return Draco by then end of the day. Now, there is Nothing to worry about. You will Both Please return to class."  
  
Beyond the point of caring that he had just been rebuked in front of a student, Snape cut in at this point. "But Headmaster, Lucius Malfoy is not to be trusted. Who knows what his plans are. For all we know he could be planning to use the demon for his own purposes. The boy is not safe with his father."  
  
Dumbledore appeared impervious to this argument. "I am well aware, Professor, of your misgivings with regards to Lucius Malfoy, and believe me, they have been taken into consideration. But, I have been given means of contacting the family if it seems that things are getting out of hand. Beyond that, Lucius assures me that Draco has been given, and carries at all times, a vial of Ron's blood," here he smiled crookedly at Ron, who just sputtered, "in case of emergencies."  
  
Snape appeared at least partially subdued by this but Ron himself was getting more and more frustrated. Unable to handle the idiocy of the situation any longer, Ron burst out with, "But that's ridiculous!"  
  
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at this, his eyes appearing far to calm behind his half-moon glasses. "And why would that be, Mr. Weasley?" Professor Snape lowered himself slowly into one of the chairs in front of the desk, looking at Ron attentively, and Ron knew then that the battle had now shifted to two against him.  
  
He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself down enough that his arguments would have even a little coherency. Even still, he found he had the terrible urge to start pacing. "Because," he grated out, "A: if it's true that he does have a vial of my blood, that's stuff's got to be almost a month old (which is absolutely disgusting)." Dumbledore's eyebrow just lifted higher and Ron resisted the urge to snarl at him. "And B: even if he has my blood, it won't do any good. It has to be fresh for it to work."  
  
Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, placing his hands on his desk and said placatingly, "Now Ronald, you know that there are many spells capable of keeping things fresh. If, as you say, the blood is almost a month old, then that means you know there was a time when such blood was taken, and such a period of time is hardly a strain on any spell that might be used. I'm sure the Misters Malfoy have everything under control."  
  
"No, that's not what I..."  
  
"Your loyalty in this case is admirable, Mr Weasley, but everything will be fine. Let it go." Dumbledore's tone was final and Ron subsided, cursing silently to himself.  
  
However, some of his argument seemed to have gotten through to Snape at least, for the Professor leaned forward with a frown on his face saying, "You know the boy does have a p...."  
  
"That will be All, Professor."  
  
Snape's jaw snapped shut with an angry click of his teeth as Dumbledore raised his hand and waved it toward the door dismissively. Professor Snape rose stiffly from his chair and stalked from the room, and Ron found no alternative but to follow him. Soon they were down the stairs, past the gargoyle, and walking once more down the hall.  
  
As they were nearing the stairs to head back into the dungeons, Ron heard Professor Snape mutter under his breath what sounded like, "Crazy fool. Not fit to head this school. What does he think he's playing at?" In the past, Ron would have defended the headmaster, or at least thought very rebellious thoughts against Snape, but in the current situation, he was rather inclined to agree with the Professor so instead said something in the hopes of enlisting somewhat of his aid.  
  
"He didn't understand when I said the blood had to be fresh. It's the sacrifice that sustains him, not the blood." When he didn't hear any negative sounds coming from Snape, he glanced over at him and saw that his face was, if anything, impassive. Taking this as a good sign, Ron continued, "Whatever blood he may have was sacrificed long ago and is useless now. Besides, if he's gone too long, it will hurt him. Even an hour late and he'll feel it. The demon will be trying to escape."  
  
Snape stopped walking then, and turned to look at Ron, a serious, scowling frown taking up his features. "It'll hurt him?" Ron nodded. "But then that must be what Lucius wants. I know he killed your uncle years ago. It was made to look like an accident but if the rumors are true, he must want Draco to do the same to you. Perhaps he means this as some sort of punishment for leaving you alive so long."  
  
Ron bit his lip at the mention of his uncle but just hung his head at the rest of Snape's pronouncement. That much he had already figured to be true.  
  
"Well, there doesn't seem to be much we can do at this point." Ron looked up, surprised at Snape's tone. He sounded tired. "I promise to inform you the moment he comes back." With that, his mouth shut in a grim line, Snape turned and strode off down the hallway. Ron followed, trying to be reassured by Snape's promise but unable to keep the worry from beating at him. When they arrived back at the Potions classroom, both were surprised to find that the class was in order. 


	27. Deviation

Author's Note: hmmmmm, I like this chapter. I hope you do too. Thanks, of course, to those who reviewed.  
  
  
  
chapter 27: DEVIATION - the letter of the law  
  
  
  
It was several minutes before Harry could stop staring at the door to the Potions classroom in shocked bafflement. When he finally pulled himself together, he turned around only to find Hermione busily working at the chalk board, chalk already smudged across her hands, elbows, and, interestingly enough, her forehead.  
  
"Hermione! What are you doing?" he hissed, the paranoid part of his brain convinced that this was just some strange joke Snape was playing on them and that he was going to come back any minute and punish them for messing about in his classroom.  
  
"We have to have something to work with," Hermione hissed back distractedly before hastily wiping the hair out of her face and thereby solving the mystery of the forehead chalk. "I found these notes on the desk," she waved the papers clutched in her left hand at Harry, before returning to her furious writing, "so this is probably the potion Snape was planning on assigning for today. But I have a plan, and this potion is just perfect for the task."  
  
"Plan?! Hermione? What plan? Somehow we have to get Slytherins to behave until Snape comes back." Harry felt a slight hysteria coming on and did his best to combat it.  
  
"Yes, exactly." Hermione climbed down from the chair she'd been standing on to write up the last ingredients on the chalk board, then strode over to Harry and slapped the notes into his hands. "When the other students come in, just follow my lead." She then continued on to their regular seat and plopped herself down in the chair while muttering something that sounded rather like, "Now, if we can just get rid of their wands, unless..."  
  
Feeling rather dazed, Harry stared at the notes in his hands. Noticing something odd, he frowned and wandered over to sit next to Hermione just as Seamus, Dean and Neville trooped into the classroom. "Hermione," he whispered fiercely in her ear, "you've forgotten the last ingredient."  
  
Hermione just raised an eyebrow and removed the notes gently from his hands. "Harry, does that really sound like something I would do?" Harry couldn't help but feel suspicious at the tone of her voice and, as the rest of the class began filtering in, he began to suspect that the plan she had developed to take care of Snape's Potions class was going to be much more interesting than any such plan ought to be.  
  
As more and more of the class settled into their seats, the noise level in the room began to rise higher and higher. Harry could see that without Professor Snape to keep them in check the class would quickly get out of control. He glanced nervously at Hermione to see what she was going to do, but she just remained sitting quietly in her seat, a small smile of anticipated satisfaction playing about her lips. Finally, at some seemingly random moment, she rose from her seat and strode confidently to the head of the classroom. The noise level changed not a jot and Harry felt a sinking sensation begin in the pit of his stomach.  
  
"Vox Vocis Silentium Facere." The silence following the pronouncement of this spell was deafening. At the same time, Harry could tell without turning around that the expression on each and every one of the Slytherin's faces was that of murderous rage, and he suddenly wished that he was more religious so that he could start praying to every god out there that everyone would make it out of this alive. Even some of the Gryffindors seemed a little hostile.  
  
"All right, class." Hermione's voice rang out over the still dungeon room. "As you can see, Professor Snape is not yet here today. He has given me control over the class until he returns and, until such time, we are going to operate under some very simple guidelines." There was an angry rustling from the Slytherin side of the room and Harry tensed, hoping fervently that Hermione knew what she was getting herself into.  
  
Ten minutes later the class was working diligently and Hermione was smiling happily to herself as she stirred in the third ingredient to Harry's and her own potion. Harry himself had come to the conclusion that he should never, ever piss off Hermione when there were no teachers around to keep things in check, and he realized that the incident with Neville in first year was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to just how brilliantly scary she could be.  
  
"Harry, hand me the frog's eyes."  
  
Harry passed them over then pulled out a sheet of paper and his quill and began scribbling a note to her. She'd restored everyone's voices several minutes ago but Harry figured it was best that the discovery of that fact by the rest of the class be delayed as long as possible.  
  
-Hermione, are the fumes of this potion really toxic without the last ingredient?-  
  
Harry figured that this was the first question he should get out of the way. Definitely the most important. Hermione read the note then raised her eyebrow at him before picking up the quill and scribbling.  
  
-Of course, Harry. You know bluffing is a bad idea with Slytherins.-  
  
Harry swallowed as he read this, then continued his questions as Hermione began chopping up dung beetles.  
  
-1. Will you really keep the last ingredient a secret if anyone misbehaves?  
  
2. What will happen to a person without that ingredient?  
  
3. What did you curse Pansy Parkinson with? She's starting to scare me. -  
  
He handed over the parchment and began grinding the beetles up into a paste with rosewater as Hermione answered him. Shortly, she passed him back the parchment.  
  
-1. No one gets to know the last ingredient until they are ready to add it to their potion or until   
  
Snape comes back.  
  
2. Without it you'll start to go blind in a couple of hours.  
  
3. Don't worry about Pansy. It'll wear off before tomorrow. Though I thought I'd have to use   
  
it on Malfoy too. Good thing he's not here today.-  
  
Malfoy, or no Malfoy, Harry did not feel comforted. His next resolution was to never again ask Hermione what she was doing. He decided it was better just not to know.  
  
It was just as Harry was scraping the beetle paste into their cauldron that Professor Snape swirled back into the room, followed by a scowling Ron. Harry breathed a sigh of relief before remembering that all hell was going to break loose as soon as the Slytherins told him what had happened. It took him a minute to realize that the room remained eerily quiet, but then he looked up to see Snape standing at the head of the class, a look of patent disbelief on his face. Turning around in his seat, Harry saw that the Slytherins had all stopped what they were doing and were just looking silently at Snape. After a moment, Snape's face settled back into its familiar disdainful sneer. "Well, get back to work. And that includes you, Mr. Weasley," he snapped, then, "Ten points to Gryffindor." With that Snape began doing what Snape does best, moving around the room and making all of the Gryffindors too nervous to mix their potions correctly. As he passed their work station Harry glanced up at the chalkboard and saw that one more thing had been added to the list of ingredients and conspicuously labeeled, "last ingredient": 1/2 cup diced tomatoes  
  
Harry was about to turn around and energetically question Hermione's sanity (was she actually serious!?) when Ron came over and began listlessly starting his potion at the workstation next to theirs. Deciding that Hermione was probably perfectly serious anyway, Harry covertly tore off another piece of parchment, scribbled a hasty note, and shoved it at Ron under the desk. Ron read the note with a blank expression on his face. He then picked up a knife and began chopping dung beetles. "Not now, Harry," was all he said.  
  
Harry ground his teeth in frustration. Despite seeing Blaise Zabini being attacked by his own school books and Pansy Parkinson sprouting a pair of horns and starting silently mooing, the anxiety alone was quickly turning this into the Potions class from Hell. Remembering the Parkinson episode, Harry threw a hasty glance her way to check that the horns had disappeared before Snape came back. They hadn't. With this, on top of everything else, Harry just couldn't find it within himself to care. Snape probably wouldn't even notice anyway. 


	28. Isolation

Author's Note: hmmm, don't have much to say about this. Hope you enjoy.  
  
  
  
chapter 28: ISOLATION - a separate place in hell  
  
  
  
Draco glanced at his watch and rolled his eyes. 11:55. Damn time was moving slowly. He looked once more around his room at the Manor before flopping backwards on the bed. This was So Boring. If he had to be taken out of school for a day at least he could be Doing something. Locked alone in his room was definitely Not Draco Malfoy's idea of a good time.  
  
There was a soft knock at his door and Draco sat up slowly as he heard the low click of the latch releasing. The door swung silently inward and his father strode into the room, the soft thump of his shoes on the carpet and the rustling of expensive fabric the only sounds he made. Lucius Malfoy crossed the room and sat down on the bed next to his son.  
  
Draco glared at his father as hautily as he could, but with that look on his father's face he knew nothing would faze the man. Right now he was just watching Draco with a serene expression that said Draco was in the wrong but was soon to be corrected. Draco restrained himself from curling his lip. That particular expression never went over well with his father.  
  
"Draco," Lucius finally began, "You do understand why I've brought you here, don't you, boy?" His tone was smooth, sinister as a snake and just as cold.  
  
Draco stared at his father defiantly. "You want me to kill Weasley." He put all of the cold dignity and nonchalance he could muster into his words. Even still, his voice caught briefly on the last and he hoped his father hadn't noticed.  
  
"Wrong!" Lucius' tone held the steel lash of a sharp whip and he rose to frown down upon his son. "I've brought you here so that you may know what it is you face. You are here so that you may see reality, boy." Lucius' voice had once more gone chillingly cold and his face slipped back into that sneering indifference that was the mask and strength of all Malfoys. "What you choose to do with the knowledge you gain today is your own affair, but choose you must, and with eyes open to the reality which is upon you." Lucius turned, his robes flaring around him, and strode back across the room to the door. "Meditate on that, Draco." And he was gone. The lock clicked with cold finality.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Ron, where are you going? Don't you have detention with Malfoy?"  
  
"Did you see Malfoy in class today, Harry?" Ron continued on his way to Griffindor tower, sidestepping a third year as he came around a bend in the hall.  
  
"No, but don't you still..." Harry continued half-running after him.  
  
Ron put his long legs to good use and lengthened his stride a little more. He really just didn't want to talk to anyone today. "No, Harry, I don't. The whole point is to serve the detention With Malfoy, and if he's not there, then it's just a waste of everybody's time." He started up the stairs to the tower two at a time and was soon standing in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. "Whortle Berries." He stepped inside.  
  
"Look, Ron." Harry tripped and half fell into the common room after him. "You don't have to tell me what's going on but there's no call to go snapping at me about it." Harry sounded cross and if Ron had been in a slightly worse mood, he would have smiled at it. As it was he just turned and glared at Harry.  
  
"Listen, Harry." Ron tried to keep the frustration out of his voice but it came through anyway. "Just leave me alone right now, okay? I'll see you in class." He turned and hurried up the stairs to the boys dormitory and, hopefully, a few minutes of quiet.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The clock struck two o'clock. Draco glared at it. If it had been stupid before, sitting around in his room doing nothing was Really stupid now. If he hadn't known better, Draco would have thought that Lucius had locked him up as some sort of weird torture. Oh, wait a minute. That's Exactly what it was. Draco growled half-heartedly at the door. At least his father hadn't come back. He wasn't sure if he could handle more of that lovely company.  
  
With a sigh and a clenching of his fists, Draco rose from his seat on the bed and resumed pacing around his room. If this kept up much longer, he was going to wear a circular trail into the carpeting. Not that it really mattered, but that seemed to be the only thing of note he was doing all day.  
  
At least the hunger wasn't really that bad. It would have been better if his father had let him have lunch. Oh well, Draco had gone without food before. He was sure he could go without a meeting with that Weasley brat as well. It was just another hunger, after all. Just something he noticed at the back of him mind but didn't really have to pay attention to. A light tension in his back.  
  
It was the boredom that was killing him. Just a few minutes ago he'd sped up his pace and walked around in tight circles as fast as his feet would carry him just to see how long it would take before he got dizzy. That was how bored he was. He had almost wished he had some books in his room so there was something to read, but then spent five minutes berating himself for that thought and reminding himself of the evils of bookishness. Just leave the heavy reading to Mudbloods like Granger. He had no need to concern himself with such trivialities, most especially NOT for recreation. If only his father had left him his wand. Then he could practice his Transfiguration or Charms or something. Not that he considered homework an ideal cure for boredom but at least he'd be doing something productive. Of course, if he had his wand, he could be even more productive by planning some sort of escape. It was generally a bad idea to try to thwart his father, but it was also so satisfying when he managed to do just that and Really, this was getting ridiculous. He was missing school so he could spend the day getting to know the room Better. So lovely. No. Wait. He was bored of that train of thought. He'd covered it pretty well by now.  
  
Then Draco had an inspiration. He generally despised muggles, but, from what he could tell, they basically had to figure out how to do everything wizards did, only without magic. Hoorah for them. So, they probably had to figure out how to escape from boring situations without magic as well. Well, if a muggle could do it, he sure as hell could too. Draco strode to the window with a new sense of purpose.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ron slouched over and rested his chin on his crossed arms. He scowled at the blackboard, more than ready to be done with the last class of the day. The defense against the dark arts professor was a real winner this time, and he meant that with all possible sarcasm. He was sort of a weird cross between Professors Lockhart and Moody, darkly intense and serious about his subject and far too conscious of his appearance and presentation. Most days it was exhausting just trying to follow his mood swings, let alone his lessons. Professor Gannibal was, what his father would call, quite the character, said with the least possible amusement.  
  
Ron sighed and glanced over at Hermione who was sitting next to him. He had felt rather wary when she'd come and sat down beside him, sure that she too would start pestering him with the wherefores of everything that had been going on today, but so far she'd kept her thoughts and questions to herself and Ron was grateful. The events of today were making it increasingly obvious that he really did need to tell his friends what was going on, as well as making Ron increasingly sure that he didn't want to. With another sigh he turned back to the lesson.  
  
Gannibal had decided that today they would review the basic defenses against curses and Ron was feeling less-than-pleased with the subject matter. It really wasn't helping that the professor was being so dramatic today, either. He kept darting about the room as if searching out some curse hidden in a corner and would periodically stop and lecture sternly about the importance of their lessons and the life-threatening positions they might potentially find themselves in.  
  
Currently he was standing in a corner by a bookshelf, no doubt trying to use the shadows to make himself look particularly dark and forbidding. "Now remember class," he barked, his voice rolling sternly over the classroom, "I'm sure I don't have to remind you, but the Best and ForeMost defense against curses Is Prevention." Ron rolled his eyes and tried to keep from grinding his teeth together. "The mere act of awareness that allows you to avoid a curse or a curser is the most effective means of not being cursed. There are tell tale signs you may observe, insights you can gain if you keep your eyes and ears Open. Negligence is the foremost reason that people allow themselves to become cursed. Do not make this mistake."  
  
Ron felt like pounding his head on the desk. Wasn't this jolly fun? He felt like getting up and screaming, "Well that's bloody good advice, but what if you're cursed a thousand years before you're even born!?" Instead he settled for digging his nails into his arm in an effort to distract himself. Professor Gannibal would no doubt come up with something Ron had done wrong that had landed him with that curse if he did yell that anyway. Sometimes the man could be so black and white that Ron had even once heard a Hufflepuff complaining about some of his opinions.  
  
Of course, none of this could distract Ron for long from what was really bothering him and his thoughts turned, once again, to the missing Malfoy. It really hadn't been That long since they usually met everyday and so so-far everything could really just be alright. His absence Could actually be legitimate and there could be nothing for Ron to worry about. Ron would probably see him at dinner. But, of course, Ron didn't really believe that. Deep down he knew that Lucius was up to something and, however this turned out, it wasn't going to be pretty. But he needed to stop worrying. Worrying wasn't going to do anything except make him more tense and on edge than he already was, and besides, no way would Malfoy be worrying about him if their situations were reversed. This whole thing was costing Ron nothing and he should just let it go. Snape would tell him when Malfoy got back, anyway.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It was 5:30 and even the view was boring. No, scratch that. Especially the view was boring. After three and a half hours Draco had determined that muggles either also couldn't escape from locked rooms with metal grates on the windows, or else they were bloody geniuses and that's why Granger did so well in school. Of course, that left some of the other mudbloods with unexplained acts of stupidity but hey, maybe it only cropped up in survival situations. Maybe they were feeding the mudbloods too well at Hogworts. Maybe if they had to forage for their own life necessities their minds would really blossom. Starving them would really be doing them a favor. Yes, Draco liked this plan. He should find some way to introduce it.  
  
He should wait to introduce it until he himself wasn't starving, though. Hunger definately did not improve His mental skills. Right now the questions he could deal with were quite simple: Why wouldn't his father let him have anything to eat? (Really, it was redicuous) How much longer could he take this room before his head exploded (Draco felt that when he got out of this he should write a book on the evils and torture methods of boredom) and Where would the best place be to find Weasley once he got back to Hogwarts.   
  
Ok, so Draco would admit it. He was feeling hungry, and not just for food. The craving had been growing inside of him for several hours now and was no longer just a nuisance easily ignored. He imagined the taste of Weasley's flesh when he bit into it, salty and sweaty and warm. He imagined the taste of his blood as it poured past his lips with its sweet and iron tang. Draco bit his lip and shut his eyes for a moment, savoring that thought before lunging up from his seat by the window and beginning to pace once more. These thoughts certainly were not doing any good. What he really needed to do was to try to think about something else, something to distract him from his hunger. He tried reciting his ABC's backwards but got lost somewhere around W. So he tried counting backwards from 100, but that was too easy and soon he found his mind wandering again. Throwing his hands up in frustration, he began stomping around the room singing the baudiest songs he could think of at the top of his lungs. This method was sure to bring his father down on him, but right now Draco would welcome any sort of distraction.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Ron. Eat." Ron kept his lip from curling only by sheer force of will as his sister passed him, giving him a what?-I've-only-got-your-best-interests-at-heart look. He hated that look. Fred and George used to give him that look right before they did something that invariably managed to land Ron in trouble with Mum.  
  
"Yes, Ron. You've hardly touched your food. Aren't you feeling well?" Hermione was looking concerned again and Ron just wanted to crawl under the table and hide. Why did he have to be around People all the time? Though he wasn't surprised they had noticed he wasn't eating. Usually food was one of his all time favorite things, but he'd just been worrying so much all day that his stomach felt like it was tied into knots. The thought of putting something in it and asking it to digest was just this side of revolting.  
  
"I'm ok, Hermione, really." He knew she wasn't buying it, but he also knew it would get her to leave him alone for a little bit at least.  
  
"No, really, Ron. What's wrong?" Well, wrong on that count anyway.  
  
He decided to settle for a half-truth. "I've just been feeling stressed out today, that's all."  
  
"Is it to do w... No, never mind." Hermione's jaw shut with an audible click and her lips settled into a hard line.  
  
At her cold tone, Ron rubbed a hand over his eyes and found himself wishing, not for the first time that day, that he was brave enough to tell them what was going on. He wasn't though. "Listen, guys, I think I'm just gonna head off and get a start on my homework." In their silence, he rose from the table and headed out of the hall. Once he got back to Gryffindor tower he headed up to the dorm and fetched his books down to the common room. He didn't have any illusions about the amount of studying he was going to get done, but he wanted to be ready for when Snape contacted him. As he settled down at a table in the corner he hoped it was soon.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Night had fallen. The world outside the windows was dark and forbidding. The cold leaked through the glass and the wind rattled the branches of an old tree against the side of the Manor. Draco Malfoy lay curled atop his bed and listened to the sound of the clock ticking past the time. The scant amount of light from outside filtered dark shadows over his pale face and just barely illuminated his eyes that stared fixedly at the wall.  
  
He felt like he was no longer solid. Like if he moved he'd break into a million pieces and lie scattered around the room. So instead he held himself curled as tightly as he could, motionless and tense. He let his mind sharpen and focus so that the whole of his brain was devoted to one thought, one sensation: His hunger in the passage of time. He counted the seconds up like a miser counting his gold, meticulously, ceaselessly. He could feel the time passing like water flowing over his skin, measure the current as it swirled through his hair. He drifted in time. So attuned, he could feel the drop-off moving closer.  
  
Draco Malfoy felt his fear in the night. The time was approaching when the red flow would cease and the darkness would come, that special moment when one day turned into the next. Watching the seconds tick by like grains of sand pouring out of an hour glass he felt so helpless. Once a day. Once a DAY. Where was Weasley when you needed him? Lying alone on his bed Draco felt like he'd been abandoned. He'd gotten lost in the dark and no one was coming to save him. His hunger would devour him until all that was left was a bare husk of himself. And still the seconds ticked by. The clock struck the hour: nine o'clock, and Draco felt the notes reverberate over his skin, worming their way inside him and feeding the beast of his fear. And time continued slipping ever by, seconds flowing into minutes into. Ten o'clock. The shadows had slipped their way across the bed, leaving Draco puddled in darkness. Eleven o'clock. The door clicked open and a shaft of light fell across the room and onto his still form. "Rise and shine, my boy." 


	29. Salvation

Author's Note: Ok, I'm REALLY sorry it's taken me this long to update. My only excuse it that school decided to say "HELLO" and I've been pretty busy lately. Hopefully this chapter will end some of the suspense of the last, and I hope you like it. As ever, Thank you SO much to those who reviewed. I really appreciate it.  
  
  
  
  
  
chapter 29: SALVATION - a finding of place  
  
  
  
"Ron, come on. You need to go to bed."  
  
Ron looked up from the four lines of his Potions essay he'd managed to write and scowled in irritation. "Hermione, what are you talking about? It's only eleven o'clock, and I'm not even tired." After saying this he clenched his jaw shut in an effort to stifle the yawn that came over him.  
  
Hermione faced him across the table in the common room. Her arms were crossed and she was managing to look both anxious and irritated at the same time. "Ron Weasley! You've been dozing over that essay for the past forty-five minutes. It's been making me tired just watching you. Have you written Anything in the past half hour?"  
  
Ron rubbed a hand over his face before crossing his own arms and replying, "I've just been having trouble concentrating that's all." He put forth his best whine. "You know how much I hate potions." In truth he hadn't even been thinking about potions. It was getting very late and, assuming that Snape was keeping his word, Malfoy hadn't gotten back yet. That was bad. He wasn't sure why it seemed to be quite as bad as it did but, considering the way his skin kept prickling whenever he looked at the clock and the tension that was steadily building in his shoulders, it appeared they were rapidly running out of time. It was at this point that Harry decided to join the conversation.  
  
"Ron, this is ridiculous. You're tired and you're sick. You need to rest."  
  
Ron stared at Harry's, now also anxious, face for several moments in confusion. Then he began to have an idea of what was going on and he felt his skin go cold. "Harry," he said as calmly as he could. "What are you talking about? Who said I was sick?"  
  
"Ah..." Harry's mouth hung open for a moment before he snapped it shut again.  
  
"We know about the glamour you've been using, the one that's supposed to give the appearance of good health." Hermione's words came out calmly, almost sounding sad. "Ron, why didn't you tell us you were sick?" If Ron had felt his skin go cold before, he now felt like he had a sliver of ice sliding down his spine.  
  
"You're sick, Ron?" Ginny had been reading in a chair by the fireplace but she now got up and leaned down on the table the other three had been doing their homework on. She was very close and Ron became suddenly and unexplainably afraid that she would touch him.  
  
"I am not sick!" Ron did not mean to yell as loud as he did, nor did he mean to spill his homework everywhere as he jumped up from the table. Trying to cover his agitation, he stalked over to the fireplace and stared down into the flames. He did not like where this was going. He also didn't feel like he had the calm necessary to handle this conversation right now. Much more and he felt like he'd end up going into hysterics. Gritting his teeth he mustered his courage and every ounce of cool he could lay his hands on and turned to face the others. The expressions on their faces were mixed, not quite angry, not quite sad. He began to feel like a trapped animal.  
  
As per usual, Hermione was the first to voice her thoughts. "Then tell us what IS going on, Ron." Her voice was pleading, almost desperate, but as much as Ron wanted to give in and tell his friends everything, the intense, pressuring fear building inside of him kept him mute.  
  
Ginny glided forward and laid a hand on her brother's arm. "Yes, brother dear, why don't you tell them what's been going on? Haven't you kept it a secret long enough?" The expression on her face was indecipherable, but Ron thought he caught a hard glint in her eyes that sent a stab of pure terror shooting through him. Something wasn't right. If only his head could straighten itself out he might be able to figure it out, but right now all he could feel was the fear.  
  
Muffling a cry he lurched away from the fireplace and around to the other side of the couch. Leaning heavily on the back of the couch he squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to bring his brain back under control, tried to focus on what he could possibly tell his friends. "I...I can't," was all he could manage to get out, gripping the couch even tighter so that his fingers dug claw-like into the upholstery.  
  
"Ron we..." Harry's voice cut off and Ron heard a flurry of wings fill the room. He opened his eyes and looked up to see that a small, grey owl had settled itself on the mantel. Looking unruffled it stared with round eyes at the room full of people, a scrap of parchment was clutched in one talon.  
  
Looking by far the calmest of everyone in the room, Ginny reached up and tugged the paper from the owl's grasp. Not even bothering to look at it, she held it out saying, "Harry, give this to Ron, will you."  
  
Harry looked completely flabbergasted for a moment but soon recovered himself and stood up to take the paper from Ginny. Ron could hardly breathe as Harry moved toward him with the note. He felt frozen, with fear or just anticipation he wasn't sure. His hand trembled as he took the paper and it was a moment before he could focus his eyes well enough to read the message:  
  
He's back. Hurry.  
  
Professor Snape  
  
Reading this, Ron gasped in relief, drawing in the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Such relieved happiness flooded through him that he felt his knees go weak. Close on the heels of that, though, came a fresh stab of panic. He had to go! NOW! Forgetting everything else in this new urgency, he dropped the note and dashed to the door. Hearing the protests of the others behind him, he was too intent on the present goal to even decipher what they were saying.  
  
He didn't remember the trip down the stairs from Gryffindor Tower. The halls and corridoors all sped by in a grey blur, worries of being caught by Filch not even registering, despite the noise he was making as his feet pounded over the flagstones. He was breathing heavily by the time he reached Snape's offices but he didn't even pause. As soon as he saw Draco standing in the corner he rushed toward the pale boy, everything else, including Professor Snape standing by the door, entirely forgotten.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry and Hermione remained frozen for a few minutes after Ron rushed from the room. Harry recovered quickly enough, however, and took the opportunity to stamp his foot and snarl something that sounded like it had far too many 'f' sounds in it. Suddenly remembering the note, he stooped to pick it up, but unfortunately Ginny was already ahead of him. She scooped it up with a lithe movement, crumpling it in her hand and quickly tossing it into the fireplace. Shaking her head she said, "Now, you know better than to read other people's messages." Harry's eyes narrowed and he contemplated strangling her. He decided that this would get him nowhere however and that what he had managed to see of the parchment might prove to be enough anyway. The note had come from Snape.  
  
As this thought finally clicked into place with everything else, Harry sprang into action, diving toward his bookbag where he'd stashed his invisibility cloak against unexpected necessity. He heard a "Harry, what..." from Hermione as he followed in Ron's footsteps and dashed out the portrait hole, slinging the cloak about him as he did so so that it was a disjointed set of feet and hands that stepped over the threshold. Taking Ron's haste into account, once out of the common room Harry set off after his friend at a dead run. With any luck Ron was headed where Harry suspected he was headed.  
  
Sprinting down the darkened corridors Harry almost wished that he had his broom with him to lend greater speed. Tumbling down the stairs into the dungeon, he thought he heard the pound of footsteps ahead of him and smiled grimly to himself. He was catching up. Turning down the last hallway, he saw the flicker of robes disappearing into Snape's offices. Moving as quietly as he could he hurried forward only to be brought up short as Professor Snape himself stepped through the doorway, closing the door firmly behind him. Despite the Professor's quick movements, however, what he saw just before the door eclipsed the room from his sight stopped the breath in Harry's lungs: Ron rushing toward none other than Draco Malfoy, and locking him in a tight embrace.  
  
Harry's mind was a jumble of confusion and he stood rooted to the spot. Some small corner of his brain was grateful that Snape didn't run into him as he walked past but mostly he was simply overwhelmed by what he had seen. When the shock wore off enough so that he could move again, he turned stiffly and began walking slowly back the way he had come. If he was lucky, he was just hallucinating and nothing he'd seen had been real. He didn't believe that though. Maybe it wasn't anything at all what it looked like. He briefly considered going back to see what he could glean from eavesdropping, but then shuddered at the thought. He really didn't want to know. Not for the first time in his life, Harry Potter was very disturbed.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Beyond the world of Harry Potter's perception, events proceeded in a blur of instinct and sensation.  
  
  
  
The world seems grey and faded around me as I stand, swaying, in that room. I don't even remember how I got here. I think Snape may be saying something to me now but I can't make it out, can't concentrate enough to decifer his meaning, nor can I make myself care enough to try harder. It's not important. Nothing is important except for the feeling of my heart beating hungrily in my chest, the quick breath that fills me but leaves me still feeling an empty need.  
  
Release me  
  
I feel like my legs are barely enough to keep me standing. They tremble in time to the shuddering rhythm of my heart and I feel that soon, very soon, they will simply shatter and I'll fall into a million pieces.  
  
He's Coming  
  
The thought strikes me like lightning running through my veins and I feel my legs firm beneath me. The anticipation prickles across my tongue and buzzes along my back teeth. The wait has not been in vain. Slowly, the color begins to seep back into my vision and I become aware of Snape breathing slowly in and out across the room from me, as well as the hiss of my own shallow breath.  
  
Soon. soonsoonsoonsoonsoon.  
  
The pounding of loud footsteps echoes down the corridor and I feel myself tense. The sheer energy of his presence as he fills the doorway almost overwhelms me. Dark robes swirling and preceding him like the first waves before a typhoon. Hair like red flame hovering above a moon pale face. His eyes are as dark as the space between the stars.  
  
you came  
  
He starts quickly toward me and suddenly I can move again. My joints unfreeze as whatever winter has held me fast recedes and I find myself rushing to meet him. I barely register the jar of our impact as his warm scent washes over me. He smells of earth and fresh linens. His skin is warm as well and I savor the sensation as I bite into the flesh along his throat.  
  
yeeesss  
  
I feel his arms tighten around me, and finally I feel safe. I am wrapped in a warmth that flows over and through me. Something gives way and we're falling. I'm tumbling forward and land deeper within his embrace as the lumpy softness of Snape's couch breaks our fall. His blood flows like wine, or the breath of life, past my lips and I feel like I'm home.  
  
i'm not Alone anymore.  
  
I feel him shiver, trembling beneath me and, with a jolt that sends cold sliding down my spine, I remember not to take too much. His blood is as sweet as the sea to a land-locked sailor, but I let him go, regretfully withdrawing my hold on his throat. He gasps in a deep breath, his head falling back and I can almost taste the sweetness of the air as it flows into his lungs. Exhaling he lies still. His arms are still wrapped tight around me and I think I'll never move from this bliss. His neck is warm beneath my face where I've left my head to lie. His blood a sticky warmth against my cheek. His skin beneath my lips pulses and shivers with life as it dews under the caress of my breath.  
  
hold me forever  
  
I don't feel lost anymore. I don't feel afraid anymore. Here is someone who knows me and won't let me be alone anymore.   
  
Yes, father. I heed my lesson well. 


	30. Foundation

Author's Note: Don't have much to say. The eternal thanks to my reviewers are still in place. I'm sorry this story is being updated to sporadically, but I hope you enjoy this chapter in any case.  
  
  
  
chapter 30: FOUNDATION - beginning of the end  
  
  
  
The portrait door swung open and Hermione flinched at the sound of it. Whichever one of them it was, she didn't want to deal with it. 'If you don't want to deal with it then why are you still waiting up?' asked a small voice in her head. She told it to go to Hell.  
  
"Hermione?" It was Harry. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and briefly considered burying her nose in her book and pretending like she hadn't heard. Instead she put the book down in her lap and looked over to Harry who was standing by the couch with a glazed look on his face.  
  
"Yes, Harry?" She felt tired and it was clearly reflected in her resigned tone.  
  
Harry sat down on the couch next to Hermione. He continued to stare straight ahead and for several minutes said nothing at all. Finally, just as she was about to ask him what was wrong, he said, "I think I'm going insane."  
  
"What happened, Harry?" Hermione asked, adopting the simple tones one uses to speak to a child.   
  
Harry looked over at her and blinked a couple times. "I...umm..." His jaw worked but nothing else came out.  
  
"You ran after Ron?"  
  
This seemed to be all the encouragement he needed for suddenly he was looking directly at her and the words were pouring out of his mouth in a rush. "Yes, I ran after Ron. I didn't know if I would be able catch him but when I got down to the basement I heard the sound of running and when I got to the hall with the potions classroom I saw the end of his robes going into Snape's offices. I went to see what was going on, but right then Snape came out of the room and shut the door. He shut the door pretty fast but I still saw in there. I still saw Ron and Malfoy, and I...they...I think they were hugging? And I didn't know what to do then, and fortunately Snape didn't run into me, and so I just came back here and, Hermione, WHAT'S GOING ON?!" By then end of all this Harry was pale and breathing rapidly and Hermione wanted to smack him to maybe snap him out of it but she was too distracted by what he had said.  
  
Just then the part of her brain that doubted anything that didn't come out of a book kicked in and instead of smacking him she grabbed him by the shoulders and said as distinctly as she could, "Harry, are you sure that's what you saw?" When Harry nodded she continued, "You're sure he wasn't attacking Malfoy or something?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. Malfoy looked too happy."  
  
Hermione bit her lip, trying to get the logical side of her brain to catch up with the hysterical side of her brain. Snape leaving Ron alone with Malfoy. Malfoy looking happy. Something very weird was going on and right now she was trying very, very hard not to jump to crazy conclusions, because crazy conclusions weren't going to help anyone right now.  
  
The problem was, the only things she could come up with were crazy conclusions.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
His eyes glittered like a cat's in the darkness as he watched her walk into the room. She looked so uncertain and fragile as she moved across the dusty floor, but still he hung back in the shadows. She gained the center of the room and turned slowly in the moonlight, searching him out. The door was shut, all was quiet, and so he emerged. The light falling through the windowpane sent glints of silver dancing along his hair and lit one side of his face like a hard mask. "So good of you to join me, my dear."  
  
Ginny spun to face Lucius as his voice broke eerily into the silence. She watched him mutely as he closed the distance between them, her face giving hint of neither surprise nor welcome. Not until he raised a hand to brush along her cheek did she reply. "Did you think I would not?"  
  
"Never," was all he whispered before slamming his lips down upon her own and crushing her to him in a tight embrace. They met each other hungrily, lips battling teeth, hands tearing desperately at robes. Heat seemed to well up between them so that they moved in an inferno of hunger and dark magic.  
  
Their robes were their only bed as they settled quickly to the floor, thoughts of comfort and respectability ignored by both. No words but only ragged breath and sharp gasps filled the thick stillness of the room. Lucius imagined that the hard stone floor was drawing bruises along Ginny's shoulders and back, but the thought only pushed him harder. He felt driven by such an intense need, as though hooks of wanting were set into his flesh and pulled at him insistently until he could do naught but obey their brutal commands.  
  
Nails bit sharply into his skin, scratching bloody weals across his back. Legs tightened crushingly around him. The pain was swallowed up by the sensation of the moment, even as he felt her bite fiercely down on his lip and suck the welling blood from his mouth. All he could feel was the heat of her flesh against his own, the fire that seemed to flare along her skin and rippled through him in waves. All that he was was forgotten and all that mattered was the matching of her hunger with his own.  
  
Afterward they lay sprawled in the moonlight upon the dark tangle of their robes. The sweat dried on their bodies and Lucius felt himself cooling, becoming cold. A dark, smothering lethargy took hold of him and his thoughts circled aimlessly as he lay coiled around the dry warmth of Ginny's small form. She had one arm draped across his back and the raw heat radiating from her seemed to brand itself into his skin, contrasting the cold that was stealing over him all the more sharply.  
  
Suddenly, a thought flickered in the back of his mind and he spoke, his voice ragged and thin, as though he spoke only after long years of silence. "He is weak. He can not stand up to us. When I left him he was quiet as stone, with as little will."  
  
Ginny's reply was soft, her words smoothing themselves along his jagged nerves and he felt himself begin to relax. "The other is stronger. He will resist. But we have confidence. We know the secret places of his heart. In the end, his strength will be his downfall." Lulled by this, Lucius felt himself falling into unconsciousness. Slowly, the cold seeped into his bones and the fire beside and around him grew, and for a time he knew nothing but the black emptiness of oblivion.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ron felt still. Yes, that was the best way to describe it. For a while he simply lay on the couch and let the stillness seep into him. His thoughts seemed frozen in his head, neither clawing at him with worries or uncertainties, nor disorienting him with their endless, looping logics. The room was quiet, calm, the only sounds those of soft breathing. As far as he could tell, Malfoy had fallen asleep. Ron wasn't sure what he thought about that. But then, he wasn't really thinking anything at the moment, so it caused him no worry. The other boy was a warm weight against his chest, a soft, even breath against his shoulder. Ron had never felt such stillness.  
  
He wasn't sure when the thought that he should move first came into his head. Perhaps it was preceded by the thought that he could move. Having been still for so long, contemplating action seemed disturbing, yet the thought nagged at him. He would rather be as earth, or as stone, but he should move.  
  
Slowly, carefully, he began to ease himself sideways off the couch, letting one leg dangle over the side while turning slightly to allow Draco to fall into the warm place he had just vacated. There was a moment when he was afraid his arm would be pinned under the sleeping Malfoy, but he was finally able to extract himself without too much hassle. The entire process ended with him half falling onto the floor in front of the couch but he stood again quickly. That strange feeling of stillness still engulfed him, centering him. He turned and headed softly for the door. A vague part of his mind wondered where Snape had gone.  
  
At the threshold he paused. He could still hear Malfoy's soft breathing behind him. He thought about turning, but he didn't. Ron felt as though there was a great beast of emotion waiting within his breast that he didn't dare disturb. Discovering its nature, he feared, would open the gate and allow it to consume him. So, instead of turning, he left the room and walked slowly and quietly back to Gryffindor tower.  
  
The halls were dark at this time of night. He wondered idly what he would say if Filch caught him but didn't put much effort into it. Hogwort's seemed so deserted just then, that he couldn't really believe that anyone else would, or even could, appear. He moved through a world of shadows and half-light with a destination of only his bed and a good night's sleep. It came as a small shock, then, when he stepped through the portrait hole to find Harry and Hermione waiting for him on the couch in the common room. Or rather, Hermione was waiting. Harry had fallen into a doze. "Where have you been, Ron." This was less a question and more an accusation of wrong-doing. 


	31. Reconciliation

Author's Note: Hmmm, well, I'm not sure how this chapter will be recieved. If you hate it, feel free to tell me about it. Any review is a good review in my book. Also, I really can't say when I'll next update, so I apologize ahead of time for that.  
  
  
  
Hermione was waiting. "Where have you been, Ron." This was less a question and more an accusation of wrong-doing. . .  
  
  
  
chapter 31: RECONCILIATION - letting down a wall  
  
  
  
  
  
Ron pulled his robes tighter about himself self-consciously before stepping further into the room. He hoped that if any blood had been spilled it would be lost against the dark black of the fabric, but he wasn't sure how to respond to Hermione and so decided to stall. "Harry has the right idea, you know," he said, pointing at Harry who's head had lolled back against the couch, "you guys should be in bed." He turned as though to head upstairs himself but was stopped when Hermione spoke again.  
  
"What's going on, Ron?" There was an edge to her voice, something that promised anger and terrible punishment if he didn't answer her truthfully. Ron felt his shoulders slump. Moving slowly, he turned back and walked over to sit down in a chair across from the couch. Looking at his two friends, he saw that Harry must have been more deeply asleep than he had first appeared. His head was tipped back and his mouth hung open so that he made a sort of gurgling, snoring sound when he breathed in. Hermione, as ever, looked alert and implacable.  
  
Ron dropped his head into his hands and contemplated the rug for several moments. When he finally looked up, Hermione was still staring at him, unblinking, and he had the distinct feeling of being trapped. "It's just that..." He looked randomly around the common room, searching for some one thing that might free him from this interrogation. "...It's not just my secret to keep."  
  
"Don't you trust us, Ron?"  
  
That simple question sent a stab of fear and guilt shooting through him. After all, that was the real question, wasn't it? That was the real reason he still hadn't told his friends. On some level, he truly did not trust how they would react if he told them. Instead of answering Hermione he looked back down at the floor.  
  
"Harry saw you with Malfoy."  
  
The statement jerked Ron's head up and he stared gape-mouthed at Hermione with an expression of horror on his pale face. It felt like the bottom had completely dropped out from his stomach. Closing his mouth and smoothing his features into some semblance of calm too late to be convincing he managed to croak out, "What do you mean?"  
  
At this, Hermione's stern facade cracked, her face crumpling in on itself and tears beginning to leak from the corners of her eyes. "You tell me, Ron," she half sobbed. "Harry didn't see much but from what we can tell, something very important is going on with you and You Won't Even Tell Us about it." She paused to dab ineffectually at her eyes. "I mean, you've been so pale and tired, and you're using some sort of glamour to make it look better so it must be even worse than it seems, and you're running off to meet Malfoy in the middle of the night like it's the most important thing in the world. Harry says that it looked like you were hugging Malfoy and What Are We Supposed To Think About That?! But somehow Professor Snape is involved too, but WE'RE your Best Friends, Ron, not Snape or Malfoy, so why don't WE know what's going on!!??" By the end of this Hermione was crying so hard that Ron could barely understand her and he himself was feeling guiltier by the minute, twisting his hands around in his lap so that the knuckles were turning white.  
  
Trying to make some sort of amends, he got up from his chair and moved to sit next to Hermione, putting one arm awkwardly around her shoulders and patting her arm tentatively. Hermione turned and buried her face against his shoulder, crying even harder. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I never meant to hurt you."  
  
When Hermione's sobs finally quieted down a bit, she pulled back and looked at him with a blotchy, tear-stained face. "We were worried about you, you know," she said quietly and it was both an admission and an accusation.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said again, pulling Hermione into a hug, which he was happy to find was returned. He hadn't realized how much his denial of the situation was hurting his friends. Then he noticed something odd and he drew away from Hermione looking puzzled. "Umm, Hermione? Why is Harry still asleep?" Indeed, Harry was still making those gurgling, snoring sounds in a rhythm steady as a metronome.  
  
Hermione turned, wiping absently at her eyes and looked at Harry for a moment before turning back to Ron, a wobbly half-smile on her face. "He..," her voice cracked for a moment and she cleared her throat. "He was hysterical, so I put a sleeping spell on him. He won't wake up until morning unless I take it off." Her expression was serious but there was a hint of a smile lurking behind her eyes.  
  
Ron let himself smile for a moment, but then the moment passed and, feeling himself go cold, he realized that he still hadn't told Hermione what was going on, that she still needed to know, and that he still didn't know how he could manage to say what he had been avoiding saying for over a month. "Hermione, I..."  
  
Hermione put her hand over Ron's, the warmth of her touch engulfing his cold fingers, and gazed steadily into his face. "You can trust me, Ron." The sincerity and faithful calm in her expression was so strong that Ron felt a wave of despair wash through him. She didn't know. She didn't know and she trusted him, and he just knew that when she found out she would know her faith in him was unfounded, that part of her would learn to hate him. Unable to bare her gaze, he looked away.  
  
The certainty that she would never forgive him welled up within Ron until he was absolutely positive it would be so, but, along with that, came the conviction that, somehow, he needed to tell her now, before the opportunity was lost forever. "It's just...I don't know how..." Seizing a moment of bizarre inspiration, Ron plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled out the watch Dumbledore had given him a little less than a week ago. Opening it, he saw that the moon hand was nearly a quarter around the face, nearly first quarter moon, and quickly pushed away the thought of how quickly time seemed to be moving. Hermione leaned forward to see what it was and he handed it to her, without explanation, some part of him wishing desperately that the watch could simply tell the whole story for him.  
  
After examining it carefully, Hermione looked up at Ron, question written clearly across her face. "For the phases of the moon? What...?"  
  
Ron took back the watch and put it away without looking at it again. Drawing in a deep breath and pulling his robes once more tightly about himself, he began the story of the curse, starting with the events of a thousand years ago and working up to the night he found himself helpless in a room in Malfoy Manor. Throughout the entire narration, unable to watch the expressions on Hermione's face as the story unfolded, he kept his gaze fixed firmly on the fire behind the grate, watching as it flickered and danced, coiling up from the coals and retreating into red glowing embers. Much to his relief, Hermione made no attempt to say anything until he had finished.  
  
"And so you see, it's our turn now. The demon lies dormant within Draco, and only by my willing sacrifice is it kept that way. It's not detention I have with Malfoy, it's just so we can meet, once a day... You're probably disgusted by the whole thing, aren't you, but...I know what I have to do. Even if it were only Malfoy who'd be affected by it, I'd still do it. No one deserves that...that pain." As his last words fell into the stillness of the commonroom, he felt a hand reach out and grab ahold of his own, squeezing tight. He looked up and saw Hermione looking back at him, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. "Hermione?"  
  
"How can you think that?" Her voice came out harsh and she bit at her lips to keep them from trembling downwards into a frown. "That I would be DISGUSTED? with you? You're a GOOD person, Ron. Brave and loyal, willing to sacrifice for what you know is right. Few others can say the same. Disgusted with the Founders I may be, they had no right to lay this obligation on countless generations, but you I am proud to call you my friend."  
  
At these words Ron felt a tentative ray of hopeful gladness break into his heart and he smiled uncertainly back at Hermione. "Thank you, Hermione," was all he was able to respond.  
  
Hermione frowned thoughtfully then. "But...you still haven't told me what was going on today, and, if the detentions are just an excuse, what happened last week? Did you and Malfoy really just get into a fight?"  
  
Ron frowned, he would really rather put both days just mentioned behind him. "But don't you remember? The watch? Last week was the new moon, the first since... It caught us by surprise, is all."  
  
"What do you mean 'by surprise', Ron? You both ended up in the hospital wing."  
  
Ron looked away, trying to think of a way to explain it so that Hermione would understand. Finally, he said, "It's the demon that wants the blood, you see? Malfoy can't control it, especially not on the new moon. If we'd remembered what day it was we might have been able to prepare for it but, as it was, we were both caught off guard and, well, he just took a little too much, is all."  
  
"Oh, that's all, is it?" Hermione was back into her full-swing lecturing mode, all sounds of sympathy gone from her voice. "Ron, he could have killed you."  
  
Ron put his hands up defensively. "That's why Dumbledore gave us the watches. We won't let it happen again."  
  
"And tonight?" Hermione was still not appeased. "You've been acting strange all day."  
  
Ron bit his lip and looked away. "Tonight was completely different. I think Malfoy's father wanted to teach him a lesson or something. He took him away for the day so, when we normally meet, I couldn't get to him. The demon demands sacrifice once a day so it was dangerous of his father to do, but not only that, it hurts him to wait too long." Ron trailed off, not sure what else to say about it. He'd really rather avoid dwelling on the events of the evening. "I think..." but then he stopped himself.  
  
"You think what?"  
  
"I think Lucius Malfoy is an all around bastard," he said with false jocularity, drawing a small laugh from Hermione. He had almost said, that he thought Lucius probably wanted Draco to kill him and that's why he'd punished him today, but he decided it was probably best if Hermione didn't know about that side of things. It would only make her worry about something she could do absolutely nothing about.  
  
Ron sighed and looked over at Harry still snoring away on the other side of Hermione. "I don't relish going through all that again with Harry. I doubt he'll be as relatively calm as you were."  
  
"Don't worry, Ron, I'll tell him. You don't have to worry about it."  
  
"Really?" Ron felt one burden lighten.  
  
"Really." Hermione's smiled turned into a yawn. "I will, however, leave it to you to get him back up to bed. Sleeping like that can't be good for his neck, but I heard a rumor once that Seamus sleeps naked and I'm quite positive I don't want to see that."  
  
Ron suppressed a snort, then stood and stretched before bending to sling Harry over his shoulder. He was quite sure that it made his friend look rather undignified but the hours he spent playing Quidditch kept him thin and light and Ron was sure that if he tried to levitate Harry up the stairs he would only end up running his head into the stone walls. Bidding Hermione a last good-night, he staggered up the stairs and into the dormitory, plopped Harry's limp body down on his bed, narrowly missing a connection of Harry's head to the bed-stead, then stumbled the last few steps over to his own bed and, without bothering to remove his robes or shoes, fell upon the soft sheets and was soon asleep. 


	32. Suserration

Author's Note: Ok, two apologies to make. First, sorry this took so long. Second, sorry it's so short, it just seemed to wrap itself up here. I'll try not to take so long on the next chapter. Fingers Crossed.  
  
  
  
chapter 32: SUSERRATION - of breath and blood  
  
  
  
The steam was so thick in the shower room that Harry could hardly see a thing as he walked barefoot over the wet tile. Despite the steam, however, there was a chill in the air, reminiscent of a foggy London night, the tendrils of wet air like sinister wraiths. As he walked further into the room, past shower heads and bare tile walls, he slowly began to notice the silence. The steam wafted into his face in a perpetually obscuring cloud but there was no shower to be heard, nor sounds of someone washing.  
  
Further and further into the steam he went, and now it seemed to be too hot, stifling and choking. His glasses had long since fogged up and they now dangled dejectedly from one hand. Then, through the blanketing silence, he heard a sound, just a whispering susurration. Someone breathing. Suddenly, he slipped on the wet tile, falling to hands and knees, his glasses skittering off into some unknown corner of the fog. His breath hissed in sharply and almost he lost that other sound, covered over by his own exclamation. He held his breath until he had it again, then began groping forward on hands and knees.  
  
He had nearly reached the source of the sound when he brought his hand up to brush his hair out of his eyes and noticed the blood. Finger-tip to palm was covered in a red smear. He almost fled then, coiling himself over his feet, ready to spring backwards and away. A voice stopped him. "Don't be afraid," whispered, tired and small, into the silence of his panic.  
  
And there was Ron, lying so close Harry could have reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, but he didn't. For a while time seemed to slow down leaving Harry frozen, immobile, as he took in the sight of his friend, supine on the hard tile. He was naked, his skin so pale it seemed to fade into the fog, blurring at the edges. Steam had collected in the fringes of his lashes and laced the surface of his body, outlining the shadowed hollows of his ribs. He looked so frail. And he was bleeding. One hand was stretched out towards Harry, almost as in supplication. A large gash had been torn in the forearm, near the elbow, edges ragged, and beneath it pooled so much blood it overwhelmed Harry's senses. It's smooth, red face was broken only by the edging line of Ron's body and the dimpling of his fingers and palm. Glancing away and toward Ron's face, Harry saw another, smaller wound in Ron's shoulder, near the base of his throat. Blood seeped from it in a slow inevitable tide, pulsing with the pulse Harry could see fluttering in Ron's throat. The contrast of the red blood against the pure white of Ron's skin held Harry transfixed. Finally, he tore his gaze away and dragged it upwards to Ron's eyes, dreading what he would find there. They were dark, black as the abyss, but they burned with a fierce light.  
  
"Don't be afraid." Ron's lips barely moved and his voice came out in a breath, but still the words were said with an intense will.  
  
"I..." Harry searched for something to say, anything he could do or question that might bring some sanity to what lay before him, but his words were all dried up and all he could do was stare at his friend in mute horror. Ron looked back at him calmly.  
  
"It isn't your fault. The choice is mine." Ron's words were measured and steady but still they faded more and more until Harry had to lean close to hear what he was saying. "It's better this way."  
  
Suddenly, Ron's face contorted in pain and Harry sat back quickly, fear sweeping through him. As he watched, another wound bloomed against the pale skin of Ron's chest and began bleeding freely down his side. Then another on his arm. And along his side. Soon Ron was covered in gashes and rents that wept blood onto the cold tile, spreading the pool further and further out from his body. Ron's head arched back and he let out a long, terrible scream, full of rage and pain. It echoed in Harry's ears, endlessly, going on and on. And in it, an unmistakable note of triumph.  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry woke with a start, sitting up in bed so fast that the blood rushed from his head and he almost collapsed backwards again. His heart was pounding so hard he felt it must break out of his chest and go galloping from the room. Its incessant pounding throbbed in his ears.  
  
Around him, the dorm was quiet. Soft snoring came from Neville's bed, and a faint muttering from Dean's. He looked over. Ron's bed was empty. A horrible lethargy overcame him, then, and he sank back down into his pillow. He was so tired of worrying, of living on edge and in fear. He had thought he'd put that behind him last year with the dark lord's passing. He had needed to put that behind him. He only wished that now he could rest.  
  
Knowing that sleep was now only a distant and unlikely possibility, he clawed his way out of bed and, shuffling, slowly got dressed before heading down to the common room. Maybe there he could just let his mind drift over inconsequentials.  
  
He wasn't really surprised to find Hermione, once again, sitting at a table, doing homework when he got there. What did surprise him, though, was the look on her face when she looked up and saw it was him coming down the stairs. A horrible hot and cold feeling washed through him and settled in his stomach as a dark apprehension. "Harry, I'm glad you're up early. We need to talk." Wordlessly, Harry walked over and sat down in a chair across the table from her.   
  
Hermione talked as the sun rose and the room began to brighten and through it all Harry felt a weight settling heavier and heavier upon him. By the time she had finished a few other Gryffindors were up and puttering in and out of the common room, most on their way to breakfast. Hermione's voice had dropped down low so that the two of them crouched across the table like two conspirators. As the last words fell from her lips and she stuttered to a halt, Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair, wishing desperately that it could just not be true, that Ron's recent strangeness could be attributed to nothing more complicated than a secret romance or a bad cold.   
  
Always something. There was always something and he would never see rest. 'It isn't your fault.' The words from his dream flashed across his mind and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the image of Ron screaming in a pool of his own blood, as well as the more horrible image of him lying there calmly, looking back at Harry in acceptance, resignation. However true those words may have been, Harry didn't think he'd ever be free from his feelings of responsibility. 


	33. Introspection

Author's Note: Ok, sorry again that chapters are coming so slowly, but, that's just the way it is right now. Thank you to my one reviewer from last time. I think I will just keep myself in fantasyland and pretend that everyone else who read the chapter was just too amazed to think of anything to say. :) You know how I love reviews. Hope you enjoy this chapter.  
  
  
  
chapter 33: INTROSPCTION - demons of our eyes  
  
  
  
A soft moan escaped Draco's lips and he slowly opened his eyes. For one disorienting moment he thought he was still back at the manor, that it was still night and he was still awaiting a fate of either salvation or damnation, but then the scratchy quality of Snape's couch registered and the final events of the evening came flooding back in a wash of sounds and smells, brief flashes of frozen images, and the taste of hot blood on his lips. Whatever tension was left in Draco flowed out of him then. He was safe, his mind and his body were his own. For the moment, that was all that mattered.  
  
Of course, safe did not necessarily mean contentedly comfortable. As wakeful consciousness began to leak slowly back into Draco's brain, all the aches and pains that come with sleeping facedown on a lumpy couch began to register. Wincing at the crick in his neck that seemed to have evolved to one massive crick along half of his upper back, he sat up slowly on the couch. He felt rumpled. But more than rumpled, he felt vaguely like he'd been hit by a train. His whole body throbbed with the after effects of what had to be more than just sleeping in a bad position. He held up his right hand. It was curled into an unresponsive and now needly-tingling lump. Now that was definitely from sleeping wrong. And to top it off, he felt gritty, or like someone had crumpled in one side of his face. He probably had creases on his face from the couch. Damn it. He hated that.  
  
Getting unsteadily to his feet, Draco made a cursory attempt at straightening his robes before heading for the nearest bathroom. Once there he made a beeline for the mirror. Oh good. On top of impossibly rumpled robes, hair that stuck up at weird angles, and couch creases in his face, he had a good swatch of dried blood smeared across his left cheek. It started around his mouth, which looked smudgy, and then extended upward. It even looked like he had some bits crusted in the corner of his eye. Well that was just charming. Muttering curses under his breath, Draco set to work washing his face and running copious amounts of water through his hair in an attempt to get it to lay down long enough for him to get to a comb and even, if there was time, a shower and some shampoo.  
  
Despite the kinks in his back and the truly atrocious appearance he now presented, however, Draco couldn't help feeling a certain measure of calm, as though some great hurdle had just been passed and he had come out the better for it. Walking back to his dormitory he felt light, almost buoyant. For some brief moment in time, Draco Malfoy was at peace.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The water streaming out of the showerhead had begun going through rapid temperature fluctuations, probably some mechanism to get people to leave if they were in the shower too long, but Ron made no move to do anything about it. Indeed, for all intents and purposes, he appeared not to notice.  
  
Ron was exhausted, not only physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. He felt as though the water cascading over his body was the only thing holding him together and that if he were to step out from under it he would simply break apart, or crumble into dust. No matter how hot or how cold, the water falling rough and stinging against his skin provided a consistency that kept him sane. And sanity was something he yearned toward.  
  
When he had gone to bed the night before he had felt so at peace, like the world was finally allowing him to fit into his place. He felt accepting and calm. But then...but then sleep had been hard. He had fallen asleep easily, for once his prowling mind not keeping him awake with worries and barely perceived tensions. The dreams were different, though. They dragged him down, anchored his mind in some deep abyss and taunted him with dark visions, even, as a drowning swimmer struggles to reach the light, to breath the air, he struggled to reach wakefulness once more.  
  
The visions that he saw were not as they should have been. Faces that he loved twisted and turned angry, becoming great beasts set to devour him, or they faded into grey, their eyes cast from him and slipped out of reach of love or comfort. Only the dark eyes of his enemies watched him with anything resembling pity, and always a black fire writhed before his eyes, twisting and obscuring what he saw even more.  
  
When Ron had finally managed to claw his way out of the hell that was his dreams he had lain wide-eyed in bed, willing himself to forget. His fear had been a palpable thing, wrapping him tightly in its coils and worming its way into his heart. His bed had begun to feel like a prison, the sheets twisted about him like chains.  
  
It was then that he had fled to the showers, craving the heat, the sound to fill the quiet. Feeling muffled and enshrouded he had discarded his rumpled robes in a flurry and a need to feel Free. The brush of cold air against his skin was such a blessing he almost cried out in relief before letting the water pour over him, muffling his pain in its encompassing wet and washing away the crusted scum of his fear. He couldn't have said how long he stood under the showerhead, drinking in the sensation, willing himself to be awake and present in the simple world it created. However else he felt, he would not sleep again this early morning, but let the water wrap him in a cocoon of fuzzy consciousness. He had drifted only once. When he had come to he had looked down to see his hands slick and dripping with a bright wash of blood. The vision had faded quickly, but the sight stayed with him, as well as a pressing feeling of guilt. He had not drifted into half-sleep again, but rather concentrated on scouring every inch of his body until the whole of his skin had been scrubbed raw and felt new as the day he was born.  
  
The shower stuttered, then fell silent. A last trickle of water leaked from the faucet and dripped loudly in the sudden stillness. Ron sighed and lowered his hands from where his fingers had been working through his hair, searching out any last scrap of dirt that may have eluded him up to that point. A light breeze blew into to the room, raising goose bumps over his wet skin and seemingly trying to give him one more push out the door.  
  
Ron sighed again and wandered over to where he had left his cloths in a pile just outside the showers. The thought of putting those robes back on again, the smell of locked desperation still clinging to them, repulsed him. Instead he grabbed up a towel thoughtfully left out by a house elf and wrapped it around himself before scooping up his clothes and heading back to his dorm to change. Time to face the day.  
  
Gryffindor tower was oddly quiet, all of the other students already having risen and gone down to breakfast. A small voice in his head urged him to hurry or he was going to be late for Potions. He ignored it. Discarding any idea of trying to grab some breakfast before class, he headed straight down to the dungeons, enjoying the feeling of accepting his tardiness and not bothering to hurry. Oddly, he made it into the room just before the Professor. Not having points taken away in Potions was just surreal enough to fit in with the rest of his morning.  
  
As he slipped into his seat next to Malfoy, he saw Harry and Hermione glance over at him looking worried. Harry, actually, seemed especially anxious and Ron realized that Hermione must have told him already. He waited for the feeling of relief to come that his friends now finally knew his secret, but it didn't. Instead of relief, he just felt sort of distracted and had to pinch himself to keep his mind on what Professor Snape was saying. Beside him, Malfoy was still and silent. If this had been a year ago and the two of them were partnered in Potions it would have been a long lesson in orchestrating and avoiding a continuous stream of sabotage. Now they just sat together in what could almost be called a compatible silence while Snape finished his instructions. This, more than anything else, seemed to be the most striking evidence that Ron's life had changed. 


	34. Vexation

Author's Note: Not much to say except finally got a review and decided to upload the next chapter as soon as I found my floppy disk. It is found.  
  
  
  
chapter 34: VEXATION - smothered by care and anger  
  
  
  
Ron looked up from his food to see Harry staring at him intently. Ron hastily looked away, shoving a spinach roll into his mouth for added distraction. Harry'd been doing that all lunch period now and it was really starting to make Ron nervous. He really wished Harry'd just say something and stop with the whole intense, silent, inspection Thing.  
  
"Why do you eat so much spinach?"   
  
Ron choked. Damn it! Why did people always ask him surprise questions like that when he was eating? Equally valid: why did Ron always gasp when someone asked him a surprise question?  
  
"So he doesn't get anemic." Ron stopped sputtering long enough to wave his thanks to Hermione before going for a long swig of his pumpkin juice. He wasn't really sure what a Neemick was, but it sounded about right.  
  
"What?!" Harry turned to Hermione, looking almost angry.  
  
Hermione put her book down, always a bad sign. "Honestly, Harry. Don't you retain Anything from the Muggle world?" Harry snorted. 'Not a wise response,' Ron thought to himself. Then again, it was probably better than anything he would have come up with. Hermione sighed, preparing herself to charge full steam ahead into all-out lecturing mode. Ron picked up another spinach roll and started concentratedly shredding it into knute-sized chunks.   
  
"Anemia is when a person doesn't have enough red blood cells, usually because they don't have enough iron or have lost a lot of blood. Someone who is anemic will be pale and tired. Their immune system will be compromised, meaning they'll get sick more easily."  
  
"Oh." Harry's voice had suddenly gone soft and grave and Ron felt like hitting something, or someone. Instead he just snarled at his decimated spinach roll and rose from the table, shoving his loose books back into his bag. The last thing he needed right now was for his friends to feel sorry for him. Clearly he was fine. Why couldn't everyone just forget about it?  
  
He was just about to leave when Harry stopped him. "Wait, Ron, I'll walk you down." Ron turned and looked at Harry levelly, trying to judge what the best response to this would be. Finally, he nodded his consent and the two boys left the Great Hall and started off toward the dungeons.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"No, Harry. Wha..." Draco looked up from his place on the couch just in time to see Ron come through the door, Harry Potter following close behind. He narrowed his eyes. What the fuck was this?  
  
"What the Hell is he doing here?" Draco's tone was so cold it practically dripped ice. Whatever was going on, he wasn't going to stand for it. Ron looked up at Draco, hesitating between the door and the couch. He looked tired and stressed out. Potter just looked defiant.  
  
"I know what's going on, Malfoy."  
  
Draco felt himself go cold at Potter's words, but he refused to back down. Besides, he had known Weasley would end up telling Wonderboy and Mudblood eventually, though a little advance notice would have been appreciated. Anyway, he would deal with that later. "So, if you know what's going on, then why are you still here?" It was difficult to effect hauteur to someone standing when you yourself were seated on a very squashy couch, but Draco did his best. As he was saying this, Weasley seemed to finally make up his mind and he came and perched by Draco on the arm of the couch. Draco managed not to smirk at this. 'See,' he wanted to say, 'you're not important, Potter. Go away.' That sounded much too childish, however, so he restrained himself.  
  
At his question, however, Potter just crossed his arms over his chest, looking very much the stubborn git that he was. "Harry." Weasley's voice was pleading.  
  
Draco snapped. What the Bloody Hell!? "This isn't a bloody game, Potter," he spat, rising quickly from the couch.  
  
"Yes, thank you, Malfoy. We've gone through the this-isn't-a-game bit already. Can we move on, please?"  
  
Draco turned to stare at Ron incredulously. He wasn't supposed to do that. He was supposed to be on His side in this argument. Which Potter had yet to contribute anything substantial to, he remembered suddenly, turning to glare at Harry. Well he'd bloody well had enough of this. "Fine," he snarled. Turning to snatch up his wand from the couch, he was sure to bump Potter extra hard as he stormed out the door.  
  
He had made it halfway down the hall before he heard quick footsteps behind him and was stopped abruptly by a hand on his shoulder. "Malfoy, wait." Oh yes, he'd forgotten, hadn't he.  
  
Without pausing long enough to give Weasley a chance to react, Draco swung around suddenly, gripping Ron by the shoulder, and shoved him up against a tapestry hanging along the wall. "Thanks for reminding me," he said harshly before lunging forward and biting down roughly on the soft flesh near the base of Ron's throat. The blood was salty with the tang of regret and Draco pulled away quickly. He didn't want to know that Weasley was sorry. Didn't want to not have an excuse to be pissed as all hell at the git. "I thought I could trust you," was all he could manage to say, before shoving himself away from the wall and striding off down the darkened corridor. Some things, he guessed, would never change.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ron watched Malfoy stalk away in a state of confused emotions, the memory of Malfoy's anger still lashing at his mind. Part of him knew that he should be mad at Malfoy for being so rough with him when it wasn't His fault Harry was acting so weird. Generally a person had a right to take offence at being shoved up against a wall and used like some common appliance. But he also couldn't help feeling that he was partly responsible. This whole situation made them both vulnerable and that needed to be taken into account. Almost, Ron wanted to run down the hall after Malfoy and try to tell him that he was sorry, that he was tired and things seemed to be going weird lately, but he knew perfectly well that that wouldn't do any good and everyone would just end up more pissed off than they already were. If only things could stay simple. If only he didn't have to Think about anything.  
  
"Hey, are you ok?" Harry had come up behind him and put his hand on his shoulder. Suddenly, Ron was very pissed off at Harry and he turned to glare at him. Apparently, Harry didn't notice. "You're bleeding!"  
  
Ron shrugged out from under Harry's hand and glared at him more fiercely. "Of Course, I'm bloody Bleeding, Harry. What did you bloody expect? That he would touch me and somehow the blood would just sort of absorb through the skin?"  
  
A hurt look crossed Harry's face but by now Ron had completely lost control of his temper and didn't care if he hurt Harry any more. "And what Was that back there?" Ron flung his arm out, pointing toward Snape's offices. "What gives you the right to interfere in any of this?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Ron. I thought..." Harry spread his hands, looking mad and frustrated at the same time.  
  
"What did you think, Harry? That you would somehow Protect me from all of this?" Even in his fury, Ron saw by the look in Harry's eye that he'd hit a nerve with that. "You can't protect me, Harry. Not even can't, you mustn't. It's not your responsibility. It has nothing to fucking do with you. Voldemort is dead and this is MY battle. My Life." By the end of this Ron was breathing hard and there were tears running parallel tracks down his face. He didn't wipe them away but could only stand, shaking with fury and emotion, in front of Harry whose face looked white and caved in with shock.  
  
He didn't know what he might have said after that, but he was very grateful that Professor Snape chose that moment to make his appearance. "What is going on out here?!" Snape's voice was like a splash of cold water and Harry blinked and turned glazed eyes to stare at the Professor's dark and menacing form. "And what's happened to Malfoy?"  
  
Ron, still red faced, took a deep breath and answered the Professor as calmly as he could, biting out, "He left, sir."  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. "I see. Ten points from both your houses. Five more from Gryffindor for this racket. Now, get back to whatever it is you're supposed to be doing before I decide to add a detention to that." Both boys began hurrying quickly away down the hallway before Snape's voice rose chillingly behind them once more, bringing them to a stop. "Weasley," he barked out, "get back here."   
  
Wincing internally, Ron turned and trudged back to stand in front of Professor Snape who looked down at him as though he had just discovered a new form of particularly disgusting mildew. "What," he snapped, "did I tell you about taking care of yourself?" Ron winced visibly this time and glanced nervously up at the professor. Snape's mouth was pressed into a tight line but he took out his wand and coldly spoke the words of the concealing glamour that Ron had been using. Tucking his wand away he added, "Be sure to apply the ointment I gave you as soon as you get back. If it gets infected, I don't want to be the one responsible for taking care of it. I'll be checking it tomorrow to be sure that you've done as I've said." With that he turned and strode back into the dark doorway to his offices and Ron hurried back to where Harry was waiting for him uncertainly at the end of the hall. He never knew what to expect from Snape, and, despite his anger, he was glad to have Harry with him for now. 


	35. Adaptation

Author's Note: Well, I actually meant to get this up sooner, but, oh well. Thank you so much to those who reviewed. Hope you like this installment.  
  
  
  
chapter 35: ADAPTATION - coming to terms  
  
  
  
Harry was uncomfortable. He felt like he really needed to talk to Ron seriously about what was going on but he had no idea of how to begin, and was worried that Ron would freak out all over him again if he tried to say anything. At the moment, Ron was acting as though nothing in the world were wrong and that the scene after lunch today had never happened. The only indications he gave that he might be worried about something were the occasional glances he threw in the direction of the Slytherin table and the half-conscious way he shredded his spinach rolls before eating them.  
  
Harry sighed and pushed his peas around his plate with the end of his fork. There were several things about the whole situation that were bothering him right now, and he wasn't even sure which ones he wanted to tackle first, let alone how to broach the subject to Ron. He began listing them off in his head: There was the way Ron seemed to be pretending everything was fine, when it obviously wasn't, and the fact that it had taken him this long before he let them know what was going on. Harry tried not to dwell on that but he had to admit, if only to himself, that that hurt. Also, why had Ron seemed to side with Malfoy today, despite the fact that Malfoy had been, as usual, his prattish self? Then there was the dream that Harry had had that morning. Actually, never mind that. He didn't want to think or talk about that. If he mentioned that, Ron would just say he was getting worked up over nothing. And last was the fact that Ron hadn't actually told Harry himself what was going on. Hermione had said that he was afraid Harry would freak out about it and that he had been feeling too tired to go through the whole recitation twice, but Harry wondered if it wasn't more than just that, if Ron wasn't still hiding something he didn't want him or Hermione to find out about. Thinking of which, where was Hemione, anyway?  
  
Leaning to the side, Harry elbowed Ron sharply to get his attention. "Hey, have you seen Hermione? She's not usually this late for dinner."  
  
Ron shrugged and swallowed the mouthful that he'd been working on. "Maybe she's in the library. You know how homework makes her forget about everything else." He looked past Harry's shoulder and gestured with his fork. "There she is. Looks like I's right."  
  
Harry twisted around in his seat to see Hermione hurrying over to the table, a stack of books probably nine inches thick clutched in her arms. "Sorry I'm late," she said breathlessly, plopping down on the bench and lowering the books to the table with a loud thud, "but guess what I found in the library?" Harry and Ron exchanged a Look, but Hermione continued on obliviously, all the while piling mashed potatoes and sliced ham onto her plate. "I wasn't able to find very much on the curse," Harry saw Ron flinch slightly at that but otherwise he remained still, "only a few notes about the events surrounding its creation, nothing too detailed. But I Did find this." Here she stopped concentrating on her food and pulled a book off the top of the stack, opening it to a marked page.  
  
Harry looked at the page she indicated in slight bafflement. All he saw was an illustration of some long, tapering root, something like a carrot, with leaves at the top that folded around themselves to look rather like a cabbage. "What is it?" he finally ventured.  
  
Hermione sighed, giving Harry a Look, and handed the book over to Ron, who looked like he was just as baffled as Harry. When he continued to look blank, Hermione jabbed her finger at the text at the bottom of the illustration. "It's a blood-root. Don't you two know how to read? Here, look." She turned the page and pointed to the next illustration, this one of someone lying on the ground while someone else held some sort of potion to their lips. "See," she said, "it's like a transfusion."   
  
At this, the light clicked on for Harry, but Ron was still apparently confused. "A whatsit?"  
  
"A transfusion," Hermione began in her quasi-patient lecturing tone. "See, if someone looses a lot of blood, then they can drink an infusion of this and it'll replace the blood they lost. It's a very common plant, I'm sure Madame Pomfrey uses it all the time and there's probably a bunch growing in one of the green houses here. You said Dumbledore knows what's going on. I'm sure we could get some easy and..." But by this time Ron was shaking his head steadily from side to side and Hermione trailed off in confusion. "But why not, Ron?"  
  
Ron opened his mouth to say something but it was at this point that Ginny came hurrying over, her cheeks flushed from being outside, and dropped into a seat next to Ron. "Hey guys, you wouldn't believe how cold it's getting. What'd I miss?" Was it just Harry's imagination or did Ron shift away from his sister ever-so-slightly?  
  
Seizing the opportunity for what could possibly be reinforcements for her plan, Hermione pouted and handed the book over to Ginny. "Look at this. I was just telling Ron that he could easily be using an infusion of blood-root to replace whatever blood he loses because of the curse, but for some reason he doesn't want to. See it would be no trouble to get, or even to make the infusion if we had to. And he's been looking so pale for so long, it's horrible. He needs to do something or pretty soon he won't have any strength left."  
  
At this Harry heard a muttered, "Thanks a lot," come from Ron, but ignored it. After all, Hermione did have a good point, and this seemed like just one more case of Ron refusing help that he actually really needed.  
  
Ginny handed the book back to Hermione and put a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Why don't you do it, Ron?" she asked, reasonably. "It looks like a good idea. Do you really want to go home to Mum at Christmas looking like you're wasting away? She'd pitch a fit." She laughed lightly, but Ron just scowled and jerked his shoulder out from under her hand.  
  
"No." That was all he said but the dark, thin-lipped expression on his face spoke volumes.  
  
"But why not?" Harry was baffled. They were only trying to help. Why was Ron getting so upset?  
  
"We really don't want you to get sick, Ron." Ginny refrained from touching her brother again but her hands twitched in her lap in a way that suggested that she was restraining herself.  
  
Even so, this seemed to be the last straw for Ron and he stood up abruptly, pushing his plate away. "I'll see you guys later."  
  
"But, Ron..?" Hurt was evident in Hermione's voice.  
  
"But NOTHING, Hermione," Ron snapped, moving jerkily away from the table. "You guys have no idea what you're talking about. You don't understand anything, ok, so just leave me alone. If I say I'm not gonna do it, then I'm not gonna do it." With that he turned and stormed out of the Great Hall. Harry turned a shocked face to the others. He didn't know how, but Ron just kept surprising him with this thing.  
  
"Maybe," he finally ventured, "...maybe I should go talk to him?" Hermione nodded, looking glum and Harry rose quickly from the table and followed Ron out of the Hall, hoping that he would just head back to Gryffindor Tower and not wander off somewhere Harry wouldn't be able to find him.  
  
He was in luck. When he got up to Gryffindor Tower he headed up to the dormitory and found Ron slumped on his bed, picking listlessly at the threads of his bedspread.  
  
"Hey," Harry ventured, sitting down on the edge of Ron's bed.  
  
"Hey." Ron didn't even look up from contemplating his shoes.  
  
"You ok, mate?" Ron just nodded, so Harry pressed on. "What was that about back there? You say we don't understand, but you're not explaining anything to us." Ron nodded again and Harry was afraid that that was all the response he was going to get out of him right now. He stayed perched on Ron's bed though, hoping Ron might break down and actually Talk to him.  
  
"I betrayed his trust, Harry." Of all the things Harry thought Ron might say, that certainly was not one of them.  
  
"What are you talking about, Ron?"  
  
"Malfoy. I shouldn't have told you guys without talking to him about it first. I knew he didn't want anyone to know about it." Saying this, Ron finally looked up at Harry. The remorse Harry saw in Ron's eyes took him by surprise. Why should he feel so strongly about such a small thing?  
  
"But, Ron?" Harry stuttered, "It's only Malfoy. What do you care about talking to him first before telling us what's going on with you?"  
  
"But don't you see?" Ron leaned forward intently. "It's just as bad for him as it is for me. Worse even. It's his secret too."  
  
Harry frowned. "No, I don't see, Ron." He said succinctly. "WE'RE you're best friends. You shouldn't keep something as important as this from us just to protect Malfoy. How can you say that you should?"  
  
Ron sighed and sat back on his bed once more. "Yes. I know," was all he said before subsiding into silence once more, his eyes drifting listlessly to stare at the floor.  
  
Harry bit his tongue in frustration. This was going nowhere. He decided to change tracks and see if he could get Ron to talk about what had originally brought Harry up there. "Ron," he said softly, but firmly. He wasn't going to back down. "What's so bad about the blood-root? Why won't you take Hermione's advice?"  
  
Ron looked back up at Harry and blinked slowly. It was almost as though he didn't remember the conversation they had just had. "Define sacrifice for me, Harry. Just in general terms."  
  
It was Harry's turn to blink. "Ummmm...I guess...Giving up something for something else?"  
  
"Exactly." Ron's voice was firm and Harry blinked again. "If I used Hermione's blood-root solution, I wouldn't be giving something up. I wouldn't be giving at all, really. And without that, Malfoy drinking my blood becomes just an empty gesture, meaningless and without any power to hold the demon. Now, I could be completely wrong about this, but my gut instinct tells me I'm not, and I'm certainly not going to risk the consequences to find out."  
  
Harry shook his head and thought about what Ron had just said. It actually made a bit of sense. "Why didn't you just say so at dinner, then? Why did you freak out and go running off?"  
  
Ron shrugged and looked down, looking uncomfortable. "I guess I just sort of panicked," he mumbled. "Everyone was all around me, pressing me to do what THEY wanted, and I just sort of snapped. I'm not sure why I got so stressed. I'm just tired, I guess. Didn't get much sleep last night, anyway."  
  
"That's ok, mate." Harry smiled crookedly at Ron and punched him in the shoulder. "You've got an excuse not to be feeling the best right now. Just try talking to us next time first before you go assuming we won't understand, ok." Ron nodded, smiling slightly. "Now!" Harry jumped up from the bed and clapped his hands together. "Should we get some flying in before Hermione lights into us about our homework, or doesn't Mister I-eat-spinach-every-day feel up to it?" This time Ron grinned, rising quickly from the bed, and soon the two boys were out the door, down the stairs and racing out to the Quidditch Pitch, brooms in hand. 


	36. Vision

Author's Note: Ok, next chapter. It's another dream chapter, so sorry to those of you who find that annoying, but it's what comes next.  
  
.  
  
chapter 36: VISION - ghosts of past and future  
  
.  
  
It was dark there, that was all he knew, dark and safe. He stayed there, in the darkness. He was waiting for something. A door opened and the light flickered on, and Ron found that he was standing in what appeared to be an old dorm room. He was in the corner where it was shadowed, but he didn't feel safe anymore. A boy walked into the room and Ron had to keep himself from crying out. He looked to be a few years younger than Ron himself, probably second or third year, with freckles and red hair, clearly a Weasley, but Ron didn't recognize him. He held himself quiet in the corner. The boy appeared not to notice him but rather flopped onto one of the beds, picking a book seemingly at random from the table next to it, and began to read.  
  
Hours seemed to pass as Ron continued to stand in the corner and the unknown Weasley slowly turned the pages of the book, but Ron couldn't be sure about time. He was still waiting for something. He could feel it crawling up his spine, prickling at the hairs at the back of his neck. It would be coming soon.  
  
The other boy seemed to sense it as well for he eventually set his book aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up. He sat still has a statue, his hands folded in his lap and a patient expression on his face. Together, he and Ron formed a pair of frozen guards, still and watching for what was to come.  
  
The other boy, when he came, neglected to knock, but rather strode into the room as if it were his own. He was older than the Weasley, probably about 18, but, despite his age, this one Ron recognized. Lucius Malfoy. He drew a silent breath and pressed himself deeper into the shadows. The prickling sensation of something coming was very strong now and he wished he couldn't feel what was going to happen next.  
  
"It's almost new moon. Are you ready, Weasley?"  
  
The boy Ron now knew to be his uncle, Andrew Weasley, nodded and stood. "Of course, Lucius." His voice was calm, though not resigned. Lucius twisted his lips into a strange smile. He leaned casually against the wall, but Ron could see the way he crossed his arms to keep his white hands from shaking, and that he seemed to flinch as his shoulder touched the stone. Andrew undoubtedly saw it as well but the boy said nothing, simply walked to stand patiently in front of the Slytherin.  
  
Lucius bit his lip and looked away, the expression on his face uncertain in a way Ron was sure Lucius as an adult had completely forbidden himself. When he looked back at Andrew the hunger was in his eyes and Ron was reminded inescapably of Draco. He shuddered as he felt some unidentifiable emotion pass through him.  
  
"Why do you accept this?" The look on Lucius's face was intense and focused and Ron knew that it would be soon. Lucius wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.  
  
Andrew spoke almost as if he hadn't heard. "I will always protect you, Lucius."  
  
At this Lucius's face twisted into a dark snarl, all color draining away to leave him white and terrible. "WHY do you Accept This?" he hissed, moving away from the wall and backing the younger boy up against the bed.  
  
"Whether You will accept it or not," Andrew added to his previous words. He still appeared calm, still accepting, but his eyes shone with something so close to love that Ron wished desperately that he could look away.  
  
"I would not have your Protection," Lucius spat, seizing the younger boy roughly by the shoulders and pushing him backwards onto the bed. Andrew didn't even make a sound as Lucius fell on top of him, a slight arc to his back his only movement as Lucius bit ferociously into his neck.   
  
Lucius, however, was not so constrained. He snarled and growled as though he were possessed by some wild animal. His movements were rough, jerking. Not content with a single bite to get the blood flowing he ravaged the flesh of Andrew's throat and neck until it was nothing but a bloody mess, half glimpsed by Ron beneath Lucius's shuddering, twisting movements. His face was washed nose to chin in bright red.  
  
The shadows seemed to close in around Ron as he watched. Everything focused down to the sound of breathing. Lucius' harsh pants as the violence pushed him further and further. The wet hiss from Andrew that grew fainter and fainter, ragged and broken. Ron's own breath hard in his ears. Slowly these sounds came to overwhelm everything else until the world had been reduced to writhing shadows, cruel glints of pale skin and bright blood, and the staggered chorus of the gasping, hissing, struggling of death and life.  
  
In the end it was Ron's own breath, ragged and overloud in his ears, that made him deaf to else as he watched Lucius finally grow still, then draw himself up and away from the bed. The sight he revealed would have driven most to their knees and Ron knew not how he was still standing. The form on the bed was nearly unrecognizable for all the blood, the throat was nearly torn out. Still, the eyes stood out. They were peaceful and dark, strained with neither fear nor anger, and somehow, though in death, they managed to convey an overwhelming feeling of peace.  
  
Ron watched as Lucius backed slowly away from the bed. A dark presence seemed to hover over him, dark wings to wrap him and dark eyes to guard him.   
  
On the bed, Andrew's lifeless body held the stillness of the room. The boy had never even struggled, and Ron wept because he knew he would have done the same.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
I open my eyes into darkness. There are tears on my cheeks, and when I remember why I cry again. Who it is I'm crying for I can't say. Maybe it's for all of us. Maybe it's for the long line of those who went before.  
  
when will we find release  
  
The warm darkness of the dorm room seems to hold me. I shut my eyes and try to breathe in the safety and comfort I know is here. I can hear the others breathing, filling the room with a soft sound like the distant rumble of the sea. Neville is snoring quietly. Seamus is muttering something unintelligible. I try to find reassurance in their presences, but the breathing shifts in my mind, becomes harsh pants off-setting a gasping hiss.  
  
his eyes were so dark, like midnight  
  
pale hands on tense shoulders  
  
a snarl filled with blood  
  
I turn over onto my side, holding my pillow tight beneath my ear and straining myself to forget. Almost, I am successful. Almost, I can let go and let the blackness of sleep wash over me once more.  
  
don't forget me  
  
I tense as the words skitter across my mind. There's a ghost hovering at my shoulder and it won't let me forget. What can't I forget? What is it? What other Thing to go swarming through my brain until I can wish only for sleep, dreamless and neverending?  
  
will you turn away so easily?  
  
So close. So real. I would almost believe it weren't in my head if not for sheer Solitude I feel. There is no other presence in this room but those unconscious. I hug my pillow tighter. It smells like dust and my shampoo, the feathers poke through the case and scratch at my cheek and I want nothing more than to hold onto that, but it's not enough, and I give up, slowly sitting up and letting my legs dangle over the edge of the bed so that my toes are exposed to the cold night air.  
  
give in.  
  
The cold flagstones caress my feet gradually as I ease myself up from the bed to stand swaying in the dark. I feel very clear and very fuzzy at the same time. Like I'm perfectly aware of everything around me, down to the small draft of air tickling the back of my hand and the moonlight catching on the edges of the faded rugs, but like I have little or no say in anything. It feels familiar. I shrink away from the memory.  
  
Don't.  
  
I force my movements to be brisk and controlled as I search under the bed for my slippers and snag a thin robe off a chair. The stairs are even darker than I remember them and I find that I am almost holding my breath as I hurry quickly down to the common room. I force myself to inhale, to breathe steadily, but it takes a lot of concentration. I see the glow from the fireplace before I reach the common room itself. The coals are burning red and sullen tonight.  
  
Where are you?  
  
She's here. I know she's here. I can feel her breathing. I can feel her holding her breath.  
  
"Come out of the shadows."  
  
She smiles. I can feel that too. The firelight, when it catches in her hair, seems to darken and twist in upon itself. There is something feral in her eyes.  
  
"Did you remember me?"  
  
Her voice is soft and low, smooth silk gliding over flawless skin, and at her words I feel like my brain has broken into three pieces. I want to laugh, and sob, and run screaming from the room all at the same time. She smiles again, a curling at the edges of her lips, and I see something twist behind her face: old bones; teeth; honey, sweet and red as poppies.  
  
"Don't"  
  
I don't know what it is, but part of me is afraid, very afraid. I feel it in my bones, in the way my breath tries to catch and stutter. Part of me knows that if I were smart I would run. I've never been smart, though, and the threat seems so intangible as to be ludicrous. Still, I tremble as she steps nearer, the subversive part of my brain speaks for me again.  
  
"stop. please. turn away from it."  
  
The look she gives me then is cold and black, and she halts her progress towards me. Part of me wants to just take the words back, to say that I don't know what I'm talking about, but the stronger part of me holds firm. Something has been building and it needs to stop. Somehow it needs to come to an end. For a while we both just stand there, staring at each other, and I can feel the force building between us, can catch the flickers in the back of my mind that echo the darkness in her eyes. She looks remote.  
  
turn away  
  
The memories begin to float too close the surface, memories of something cold, of something sharp, and I am the first to look away. I watch the embers smolder lower and hear her chuckle softly. "You still love me. Don't you?" It's not a question. Her voice is dispassionate, and when I look up I see her regarding me as one might regard some particularly clever puzzle. "Just don't forget," she says, taking a step backward. She turns and I catch a gleam of something at her temple, some faded, twisted pattern along her arm. She turns, moving into the shadows, and it is gone. All I see is the faint light on her hair and the gleam of her eyes as she glances back at me.  
  
ginny?  
  
Before I can say anything more, she is gone. All that remains of her is a fuzzy recollection of something once there, some darker darkness hiding in the shadows, and suddenly the clarity that I had felt is gone. The red coals of the fireplace mesmerize me as I stare into their ashen glow, only pulling myself away with difficulty to wend my way back to bed. A gust of wind blows its way past the window and the memory that called me down here grows dimmer in my mind as I trudge back up the stairs to the dormitory. Soon I fall back into the comforting arms of sleep. And forget. 


	37. Acceleration

Author's Note: Someone has VERY kindly brought it to my attention that I made a mistake when I was trying to fix the formatting on chapter 36. Instead I managed to replace chapter 1 with chapter 36. *am SO embarassed* By way of apology for this, and because it drives me crazy when people update their stories without actually adding a new chapter, I have decided to upload the next chapter of the story now. I hope you like it. (I think you will.) And I hope you will forgive me for my error.  
  
.  
  
chapter 37: ACCELERATION - opening our eyes  
  
.  
  
Draco walked into the room behind Snape's offices and stopped when he saw that Weasley was already in there, sitting on the couch. He looked up at Draco and for a moment the two boys just stared at each other, Draco with spitefully narrowed eyes and thin pressed lips, Ron with a look of distant wariness. Finally, Draco sighed and strode over to the couch. He just wanted to get this over with so he could spend the rest of the hour pretending Weasley didn't exist. He was feeling cold, in control, and he wanted to stay that way.  
  
Ron said nothing as he offered Draco his arm. Draco said nothing as he took it, but paused before biting into the soft flesh. The first drop of blood on his tongue was so sweet he felt himself relax, just a tiny bit. No matter what else happened, that first taste always felt good. He held it on his tongue a moment, savoring it, before letting the red heat slide down his throat and sucking more blood into his mouth. If only things could stay as simple as this. As this place, red and dark, where his anger could be swallowed up for a time and his mind set to drift without worries. It was only a few seconds, but a few seconds was enough to allow him some measure of rest.  
  
Then his anger came back to him, and his surroundings, and Draco made to pull away. Bad enough that he had to depend on doing this every single bloody day for the rest of his life. Worse still that he could let it make him forget. He was stopped, however, from releasing Ron's arm, by a firm pressure on the back of his neck. Draco's eyes snapped open blazing, and skittered upward and to the side to look at Ron, but the Weasley's eyes were closed, his face expressionless, and he made no other acknowledgement of the situation than the hand firmly gripping the back of Draco's neck. Before Draco had a chance to struggle against this imprisonment, he felt something, just a tiny tickle in the depths of his subconscious, and feeling it he was pulled back, slipping down into himself, and into the sensation.  
  
At first it was like treading water, or just drifting. It was so still, and everything seemed warm and formless as it moved sluggishly through his mind. Then he felt it again, welling up beneath him, or inside of him, yet not of his self. Just a slow ache at first, and he couldn't name it, but it built stronger until then he knew what it was: Apology. Hesitant and insistent it skirted around the edges of his mind like a lost puppy hoping to find acceptance. He recoiled from it at first, something so foreign as knowing another's feelings, it felt like someone invading his mind, crawling under his skin. Then Draco became aware of a whispering, of a sound that wasn't a sound tapping in the background at the back of his mind. Draco concentrated on it, dropping deeper and deeper into himself so that the reality of sitting on the couch in Snape's offices barely registered. What he heard was almost like words, but not really. If he concentrated very hard he could put a meaning to it: imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry...forgivemeforgiveme... For a moment Draco was too surprised to do anything but let the words wash over him. Then:  
  
Why should I forgive you?  
  
Draco didn't speak these words, but still they boomed so loudly across his mind that he realized just how faint those other whisperings were. He felt the ripples of his question spreading out across this hidden bridge, reflecting back to him so that in the stillness he could hear their echo: whywhywhywhywhy... For several moments nothing else moved and Draco became aware of his own breath moving steadily. In. Out.  
  
Then something shifted and the echoes of his question were scattered as something else flowed into his mind across that invisible connection, riding towards him on the heart-beats of another. If Draco could have heard nothing else but the words of the reply it would have been: 'They had to know.' As it was, however, more than merely words slid themselves into his mind. There was also sensation, and an understanding deeper than anything he had ever known outside of his own head, like the parting of some unknown barrier. Images flickered across his brain telling of friendship and secrets, of trust and doubt. And so he knew.  
  
But knowing isn't always forgiving, and he couldn't let it go that easily. So he concentrated, and sent his own thoughts outward, thoughts of darkness and hunger, of fear and longing for release. He brought forth the terrible demons that twisted in his mind and remembered what it was to feel anger, and hate, and comfort snatched away.   
  
I trusted you.  
  
The response that he got was almost immediate, and so strong he thought he would drown in it.  
  
I will always protect you.  
  
It felt like sunlight slicing into his soul, illuminating all of the shadows and leaving him half-blind with its brilliance. It felt like strong hands lifting him, pulling him onward. It felt like doubt swept away, and Draco began to tremble. An observer watching in the room would have seen his hands tighten around Ron's arm, clinging like one lost and newly found. There was nothing in him that could deny the truth of what he felt. There was such certainty in Ron's presence, such strength. He was like an anchor.  
  
The anger that had filled Draco drained out of him in that moment. He was left floating in an endless calm, drifting on a sea so deep and still it took his breath away and he knew that everything was right. He began to understand what it was to have faith.   
  
Then some darker tide surged across the ocean of his mind. Images began to flicker past his closed eyes mixed with emotion so tangled and confused that it took him several moments before he realized what he was seeing, what Ron was feeling. Love, fear, sadness, patience, pride, all these things were bound in Ron as he showed Draco images from what he came to understand was a dream, was a vision from out of the past. In his bones Draco knew the truth of what he saw, but still his soul cried out to let it not be so as he watched with Ron as the dark hunger took his father, as the young boy, so like Ron, was torn, and bloodied, and eventually slain.  
  
Unnoticed, tears ran parallel tracks down Draco's face as he witnessed the brutal murder of an innocent, and they were as much from fear as they were from sorrow or a sense of injustice. The monster in this picture was all too real, all too close to home. For all that Lucius was Draco's father, so too did he suffer under the same hunger, the same all consuming rage, and what was to say that it wouldn't claim him as well? What was there to keep the beast inside of him chained?  
  
I will always protect you.  
  
The past seemed to speak through Ron, and Draco tried to hide from the sound of it. Why should such as he warrant protection? What measure of his sins would pay for it?  
  
I am not worth it. There is no hope...  
  
Hope is not for you to decide. Know that I will protect you and let it be enough.  
  
Acceptance. This is what he felt radiating outward from Ron. Like a balm it flowed into him, smoothed his jagged edges. And then Draco felt tired. So tired. Like he had run a hundred leagues from monsters that were always mere inches from his heels, and he simply couldn't run any farther. He needed to face them, face himself.  
  
But how can you resign yourself to a life chained to this? How can you accept this as who you are?  
  
The emotion that would have previously filled these questions was gone, and now Draco asked merely with a weary, almost distant curiosity.  
  
What I am doesn't matter anymore. What I am...  
  
Ron began to tremble. The peace that had settled over Draco shattered and a new darkness began to creep in. Something was wrong. Something was not right. Where before Ron had projected a feeling of rock solid calm, now Draco felt tremors of fear passing through him, waves of horror. How could he deal with this when he wasn't even sure of the cause?  
  
You can tell me.  
  
He didn't know where the words came from. They were so much more practical than anything he would normally think of. None-the-less, he packed them with as much assurance and trust as he could muster. Whatever was going on, now was not the time to skirt around the issue. He'd been doing far too much of that in the past month, he realized, and it was time to set that childishness aside.  
  
I don't want....to remember  
  
The fear Draco was feeling from Ron had almost reached the level of panic now and Draco found himself shaking with the effort to keep his own emotions under control.  
  
You need to remember. Please. For me.  
  
At this Draco felt something in Ron give way. Suddenly he felt a torrent of imagery, sensation, memory pouring into his mind. He struggled to make sense of it, but it was all coming so fast he despaired of catching hold of anything more than fragments. Then, all at once, everything seemed to go still, and before he knew what was happening, like looking into the waters of a pensieve, Draco found himself hurtled completely into a memory not his own.  
  
At first he was simply confused. Where ever he was, it was dark. He seemed to be walking down a corridor somewhere. Someone else was walking ahead of him. There was an erratic flickering of torchlight coming from sconces along the wall, but he couldn't quite see through the shifting shadows who it was. Something about the situation conveyed to him a vague feeling of being trapped.  
  
Then he opened a door, and he and the other figure walked into a dusty room. As she walked through the doorway, her profile was momentarily perfectly outlined and in that moment Draco realized who she was, Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister. It took him a few moments to process all of the implications of what this might mean, and by the time his attention was brought back to the situation she was handing him a knife and he was taking it. The events that followed were stranger and more gruesome than he could ever have imagined, and he did his best not to dwell on them once each had passed.  
  
When the vision finally ended Draco found that he was still floating in that strange place in his mind that shared a link with Ron's. Now, however, he was infinitely more frightened than he had ever been before, and just as confused as to what they should do now. Fortunately, Ron's fear seemed to have died down to manageble levels and he now projected a feeling that might have been characterized as merely very tense. Still, Draco didn't know what to say. What do you say to someone who's sister has forced them into performing strange rites of dark magic, that include carving arcane symbols into said sister's flesh, and was currently up to Merlin knew what else? If they were lucky, perhaps she was simply possessed of some dark spirit and they would be able to exorcise it. Draco wasn't sure what to do if that wasn't the case. Something in the back of his mind suggested that they should go to Dumbledore, but he avoided that thought. In his mind Dumbledore was, and always would be, an interfering old coot.  
  
I don't think she's possessed.  
  
We should still eliminate that possibility before we do anything else. She was possessed once before wasn't she? In our second year?  
  
Somehow this conversation seemed to have started itself in the middle but they both seemed to know well enough what they were talking about. At the last Draco felt a dark emotion flicker through Ron. It was apparently repressed, however, for he answered candidly enough.  
  
Yes, the diary your father gave her, the trapped ghost of Tom Riddle, a younger Voldemort.  
  
The statement was not accusatory, it merely stated the facts, nor did it linger on the name of Voldemort. He had been killed early at the beginning of last summer. He was no longer a threat.  
  
What did she act like then, do you remember?  
  
Not really. It was years ago, and I was worrying about other things.  
  
Well, we should still look into possession. I think there are some fairly straight forward ways to check on it if we just go look them up. Besides, that looked like pretty old magic she was working, and not a little complicated. It would be hard to believe she was working it all by herself with no guidance from someone, or some thing, else.  
  
By now the fear of both boys had subsided to the point of being mere background noise and they were able to discuss what they would do fairly rationally. That they would do something was never even questioned, nor was the fact that a Malfoy and a Weasley were apparently willingly cooperating ever considered. It simply wasn't important enough to warrant attention.  
  
You're probably right. I just feel...  
  
What was that?  
  
Draco interrupted Ron as he thought he heard something from "outside." He had been concentrating so completely on this communication with Ron that he had completely forgotten about the physical reality of where they were and what they were doing. Draco remembered dimly that he still had his mouth fastened to Ron's arm and that he'd probably been sitting in a very cramped position the entire time.  
  
Wait.  
  
There was a pause as Ron seemed to pull back from where ever it was they were. Then:  
  
It's Snape.  
  
This was accompanied by an image of a tall man in black robes scowling down at him.  
  
I see.  
  
That was all Draco thought before pulling himself out of that deep place in his mind and back into physical reality. He opened his eyes. He was facing the back of the couch but still he straightened, disengaging his mouth from Ron's arm, and letting go his death grip on Ron's wrist. "What can we do for you, Professor?"  
  
.  
  
.  
  
To say that Professor Snape was entirely prepared for the sight that greeted him when he walked through the door would have been a misrepresentation. He did feel, however, that he managed to school his features into a perfectly blank mask fairly quickly. Severus Snape was not a man to let surprise get the better of him.  
  
The two boys were sitting in what appeared to be a rather uncomfortable position. Ronald Weasely was sitting facing forward on the couch, but his arm was bent at an akward angle where Draco Malfoy held it and he had sort of twisted sideways to place his other hand, rather firmly from the looks of it, on the back of Malfoy's neck. Draco himself sat backwards on the couch, hunched over and cross-legged. Ron's eyes were closed, but Snape couldn't be sure about Draco's. Neither boy moved. They might as well have been statues.  
  
Quiet as statues or not, however, Snape still wanted them out of his offices. He had been working hard and had only realized that their hour was fifteen minutes overdue to be ended when he had looked away from stirring a potion to remove boils. Stepping near the couch, he cleared his throat loudly to make his presence known. Instead of the instant reaction that he had expected, the response was rather sluggish and consisted only of a fluttering of the young Weasley's eyes before they slowly opened. Ron stared up at him mutely for several moments and Snape was beginning to feel rather uncharacteristically at a loss of what to say. Then Malfoy moved, releasing Ron's arm and straightening slowly from his hunched over position.  
  
"What can we do for you, Professor?"  
  
The break in the silence was somehow so startling that Snape had to catch himself from jumping. The mood in the room was rather eerie, if an ex-deatheater such as Snape was allowed to say so. Still, he put on his coldest manner and answered quickly enough.  
  
"I simply came to inform you that your hour here is past up, and that you two shall certainly be late for your next classes."  
  
"Is that all, Professor?" Malfoy continued to address him facing the other way and Snape was beginning to think that a deduction of a few house points might be in order.  
  
"That is not all, Mr. Malfoy. What, may I ask, were you two doing? Making sure Mr. Weasley's arm would get infected? This would hardly serve either of you." Snape's voice was cold as the grave, but the Weasley's blank stare seemed, to him, to be particularly defiant, so he narrowed his eyes at him for additional effect.  
  
"We were merely thinking, Sir. Remembering, you might say." This time Draco turned around on the couch and stared up at Snape as well. Were those tear-stains Snape saw on his face? No, surely not. His face, like Ron's, was curiously blank, but Severus could still see traces of the Malfoy hauteur lurking around the edges of his expression. Snape curled his lip at it. Draco never had learned to respect his betters.  
  
"Well, whatever it was, you'd best be on your way now. I shan't be giving you notes for your teachers. I'm not responsible for keeping time for you two." Snape turned as if to go but then turned back when he remembered a threat he had made the day before. Malfoy and Weasley were already rising from the couch and picking up their belongings. "Mr. Weasley," Snape snapped, liking the cold knife sound of his voice, "Come here. Show me your neck." Ron obeyed, though warily, tipping his head to one side and baring his neck to Snape's critical eye. "You've followed my instructions I see. Good. Don't neglect them."   
  
With that, Snape turned and strode from the room. Whatever the two boys had been up to when he walked in still nagged at his attention, though, for some time afterward. That, and the peculiar intensity in Weasley's eyes. It reminded him of something, something from long ago. No matter. He would do his best to forget. 


	38. Conflagration

Author's Note: Ok, sorry I haven't updated in a bit. This next chapter is mostly just for fun. Hope you like it. Thank you, thank you to those of you that reviewed. You know I love you guys.  
  
.  
  
chapter 38: CONFLAGRATION - hell hath no fury  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Outside, feet could be heard pounding rapidly down the hallway. All heads had turned to the door, and Professor McGonagal had paused in her lecture and raised one eyebrow, when Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy burst into the Transfiguration classroom and hurried to take their seats near the front of the class.  
  
"Ah, Mister Malfoy and Mister Weasley," McGonagal said with a quirk of her lips. "Professor Snape kept you overlong at detention, did he? I wonder how that could have happened." With that enigmatic statement, she turned back to the board to continue her lecture. Ron and Draco, still gasping from their long run up from the dungeons, exchanged baffled looks before turning to dig in their book bags for parchment and quill with which to take notes.  
  
On the other side of the room Hermione shook her head and tried to return her concentration to the lecture. One never knew when it would be advantageous to transfigure one's legs into a fish's tail, and she was determined to learn the fine points of the exercise. She had to admit to curiosity, however, as to what had detained Ron and Malfoy. It didn't help that she knew they hadn't really been serving detention. Glancing at them out of the corner of her eye, she surmised that it didn't appear as though they had been fighting, so that couldn't be it, at least she didn't think so. She looked over at Harry to see what he thought and found that he had abandoned taking notes in favor of giving Malfoy the evil-eye. She sighed, elbowing him in the ribs, and hissed at him to pay attention. No sense in one of them getting detention for real when Ron would probably just tell them why they'd been late at dinner anyway.  
  
Suddenly, there was a thump on the back of Hermione's chair. She resisted the urge to turn around and glare. Blaise Zabini was kicking her chair again and she really couldn't believe just how childish some of her classmates still were. Really!! He was acting like a first year. Was there even a point to it at all? She gripped her quill tighter and resumed her note taking. On top of everything else, she did not need this right now.  
  
She was right in the middle of a word when it happened again. Two thumps this time, in quick succession. She hissed in frustration as her hand slipped and ink blotted out what she had been writing. What was wrong with that boy?! She clenched her teeth and resisted the childish urge to hex him, resolving to just ignore it. There was only fifteen minutes left in the period. She could wait him out. She glanced again toward the front of the classroom where Ron sat next to Malfoy. Both boys were concentratedly taking notes, each ignoring the other. Well, if they could do it, she could do it. Their animosity was legendary, and she could only imagine that their present situation only worked to agravate it.  
  
It was just as Hermione was thinking these thoughts, her back straightening with resolve, that she began to feel a strange prickling, itching sensation on either side of her forehead, just above her temples. Reaching a hand up in confusion, she was surprised to feel, unmistakably, horns growing out of her forehead.  
  
A cold feeling of anger settled grimly in the pit of Hermione's stomach. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who was behind this and she Was. Not. going to stand for it. Gripping her wand tightly, she stood up and whirled around to face him. What she knew to be true was only confirmed when she saw Blaise Zabini sprawled lazily in his chair, a leering smirk plastered across his face. Oh he was going to pay for this.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Blaise couldn't help but grin at the beautifully perfect sight before him. It couldn't have been more exquisite if Merlin himself had orchestrated it. There stood Hermione Granger, in all her searing, bushy-haired fury, ebony horns curling outward from her head and wand raised threateningly as though to call down lightning from the very heavens to strike him dead. He'd been waiting a long time for this, waiting to see her crack and sentence herself to a good long detention. Of course, he would probably get detention too, but it would be worth it, in more ways than one.  
  
He'd been testing her for weeks now, telling himself it was just because he liked to watch the bossy Gryffindor squirm and that he had nothing better to do. He could safely say that no one could get under Hermione Granger's skin as swiftly and efficiently as could one Blaise Zabini. He had been testing her limits, probing her, until he could tell precisely what it would take to make the girl snap.  
  
When the youngest Weasley had come to him with her proposition, it had provided the perfect excuse to put his new skill to the ultimate test. He would admit, he had been surprised that Ginny Weasley would seek his, a Slytherin's, assistance in anything. She had always come off as such the perfect, upstanding Gryffindor. No matter. The recompense she promised for this favor would be more than adequate, and the task itself was simple enough. Besides, what she wanted called for a distraction, and ever since the incidence in Potions, Blaise had been just waiting for the right opportunity to get Hermione Granger back.  
  
As much as he wanted to know what Hermione was about to strike him with, what hideously awful spell was going come flying from her wand tip and straight for him, Blaise knew that this encounter was going to have to be prolonged if he was to pull off his 'assignment' from Ginny, and that once Hermione had him incapacitated the situation would diffuse rapidly enough. Knowing that once Granger lost it, he would have mere seconds before her hexes came flying, he had readied his next spell the moment the one for the horns had been complete. With a flick of his wand, before Hermione could make another move, Blaise cast his spell perfectly and froze Hermione dead in menacing wand sweep.  
  
Now that was worth it. He never would have guessed that Hermione Granger could turn such an astonishing shade of purple. Her mouth worked silently and such rage stormed across her face that it took his breath away. Professor McGonagal had stopped her lecture and was about to come intervene, so he spoke quickly. Putting such a sneer into his voice it would make a Malfoy proud Blaise said, seemingly off-hand, "You can still speak, you know. There's no need to go sputtering on in silence." That did it. The stream of curses and obscenities that issued forth from Granger's mouth was beyond spectacular. Blaise was quickly on his feet to counter them, then Harry was up to defend Hermione, and before he knew it, the entire class was on it's feet and in an uproar. Distraction indeed, this was perfect, and well worth any punishment he would be receiving from McGonagal.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Ron had decided that the only way to keep himself from worrying would be to focus entirely on the lesson. Little doubts and feelings of helplessness kept nibbling at his insides, and flashes of memory of what had happened with Ginny kept appearing before his mind's eye. To keep them at bay, he wrote furiously as McGonagal talked, vowing to himself that he would write down every word that passed her lips. He stopped the mad scribbling of his quill, however, as he heard the Professor falter in her lecture and fall silent. He looked up to see what the matter was and for a moment the entire class-room was utterly still.  
  
Then, from the back of the class, he heard the sneering voice of Blaise Zabini. Turning in his seat, he was just in time to register the fact that Hermione was standing, facing Zabini with her wand raised, before she started screaming obscenities and the whole room erupted into chaos, with McGonagal pushing through the fray, trying to get things to settle back down. Such was his shock, that it was several moments before he realized that the funny thing poking up on the other side of Hermione's head was a horn. So help him, if she hadn't been his best friend, and frightening as all the hordes of Hell when angry, the sight would have made him laugh. Malfoy, seated next to him, wasn't so constrained, and he could hear him snickering next to him as he stood, trying to get a better view of what was going on.  
  
All seemed to be jostling chaos, with students milling back and forth, trying to get a better view of what was going on. There seemed to be a higher concentration of Slytherins in Ron's vicinity and they snarled at him as they were all jostled again. Ron was taller than most of the others, though, so he was still able to see a bit of what was happening. Who would have thought that only one classroom of students could make such a crowd? From the glimpses he caught, it looked as though McGonagal was trying to placate Hermione and at the same time, take Zabini to task. Neither attempt seemed to be succeeding.  
  
Whatever had been holding Hermione back must have been broken, for all of a sudden her shrieks reached a terrible pitch, and a sudden flurry of movement produced a loud explosion that fairly rocked the classroom. As his eyes recovered from the bright flash and the smoke began to clear, Ron had to bite his tongue to keep from reacting to the sight now before them. It was most impressive, and Ron knew, if he hadn't already determined the truth of this, that Hermione was one witch that should never, ever be crossed.  
  
The force of the explosion had sent Zabini sailing from his chair and pinned him firmly to the opposite wall. His robes were in tatters and scorch marks covered his face and hands. However, Hermione seemed to have gone for a multi-facetted approach to her attack, for more than just the effects of the explosion showed themselves on the stunned boy. Quite appropriately, he now had a pair of massive black horns curling up from his forehead, but it didn't stop there. Smaller black spikes and horns stuck out every which way from all over Zabini's body, almost making him look like a pathetic attempt at a porcupine. Perhaps that was why he still hung there on the wall like that. Some spikes on his back must have latched themselves into the plaster of the wall and kept him snagged up there. That didn't seem like it would be very comfortable.  
  
For long moments, no one moved or said a word, even Hermione seemed to be at a loss in the face of what she had done. Finally, it was Professor McGonagal who broke the stillness. "Well, I hope you two are quite finished." McGonagal's tone was steely and Ron felt like slinking into a corner to keep her from accusing HIM of anything. "I hope you have both learned something today, and I hope you learn more over the next two weeks of your detentions. Behavior like this is unpardonable, inside the classroom or out, provoked or not." Blaise blinked owlishly from his position on the wall, but it was clear he had enough consciousness to understand what she was saying. "You will both be reporting to my office tonight after supper, once I have had a chance to confer with the Headmaster and the other heads of the houses about a suitable punishment." McGonagal's face was pinched and stern, but it softened a fraction. "First, though we need to get Mr. Zabini down and the two of you to the infirmary." The professor raised her wand to unhook Blaise from the wall.  
  
It was at this point that the final effect of Hermione's curse became known, and it was just as impressive as the rest. Blaise Zabini simply would not come down, and it had nothing to do with spines hooking him to the wall. Zabini, still shaky, rose to his feet and stood unsteadily, but it was not the floor he was standing on, but rather the wall itself. Some giggles broke out among the students and again everyone started talking at once and shuffling back and forth. Once again, McGonagal was having trouble bringing peace to the room as Blaise scurried frantically back and forth across the wall, trying to find a way to get down.  
  
Out of all the people jostling around him, one touch on his arm registered and Ron looked over to see Draco standing next to him. His expression was difficult to read as he looked up at his classmate on the wall, many different emotions combining on his face, bitter humor not the least among them. Ron had to agree with that at least. Despite the shock of what Hermione had done, there was something undeniably funny about a boy in tattered robes and covered all over with spines who couldn't get off the wall.  
  
Draco tapped at Ron's arm again and Ron glanced down to see a piece of parchment held discreetly at his side. He took the paper and quickly looked down to read the note, before crumpling it up in his hand. "The library. After dinner," was all it said. Ron nodded once to indicate that he understood and would be there. Then the bell rang and people slowly began to disperse out the doorway as their next class called them away from the sight of the unfortunate Slytherin stuck on the wall. Ron went and gathered up his things, following them out. As surprising and interesting as this had been, and as sorry he was that Hermione would be facing two weeks worth of detention, he had more important matters on his mind and no good would result if he was late for his last class and possibly got himself a detention as well. 


	39. Orchestration

uploaded 3-18-04  
  
.  
  
Author's Note: Well, this is hardly my best effort (the dialogue's a bit off), but it's what I've got for right now. Sorry it's taken me so long to update and that the chapter is a bit short, but I've been hellishly busy and will continue to be for another good while. Thank you thank you to my reviewers. Nice to feel like I'm not writing into a void.  
  
.  
  
chapter 39: ORCHESTRATION - into the mix  
  
.  
  
.  
  
"So, are you going to tell us, or what?"  
  
"Huh?" Ron looked up at his friends in confusion to find them looking expectantly back at him over the mounds of food on the table. "Tell you what?" He had been thinking about how he needed to hurry up and eat so that he could head up to meet Malfoy in the library. He hadn't the slightest clue what his friends were talking about.  
  
Hermione sighed her sigh that said 'I try, but really, they are just so thick'. "Why you and Malfoy were late for Transfiguration. You two didn't get in a fight, did you?" She looked stern as she asked this.  
  
Ron snorted. "Like you're one to talk." He knew Hermione was embarrassed about what had happened that afternoon, but there was no way he was going to let her live it down anytime soon. Hermione frowned, so he continued. "No, no, don't worry. Snape just forgot to let us out, that's all."  
  
Harry frowned in puzzlement. "Why didn't you just leave when the time was up, then? From what I saw, you're hardly locked up in that room."  
  
Ron bit his lip to keep from swearing under his breath and scratched his head lazy-like to stall long enough to think of a response. He wasn't sure how to explain what had happened in Snape's offices that afternoon, but he was quite sure he didn't want to talk to Harry and Hermione about it. Besides, if he told them about that, then he would have to tell them about the thing with Ginny too. He knew that he should be asking his friends for help in this situation, but some part of him really just didn't want to get them involved. A bigger part of him also felt shame at his involvement in it all and the things he had been forced to do. Of course, he would probably end up regretting not telling them, sooner or later.  
  
"Hnnnn, that room doesn't have a clock, Harry, and Snape always comes in to tell us when to leave. We didn't know it was time to go." Harry nodded at this, looking sort of glum. "Don't worry, Hermione got into enough trouble for all of us today."  
  
Hermione hissed at this, and started playing with the peas on her plate. "Don't you remind me," she said, looking down.  
  
"Come on," Harry said, looking more enthusiastic. "What you did to Zabini was brilliant. That's for sure. He'll certainly not be forgetting that for a long time."  
  
Hermione smiled a little at the thought, but then frowned again. "Yes, but I shouldn't have let him get to me, and now I've got detention for two whole weeks doing Merlin knows what!"  
  
Ron almost choked on his laugh. "Too true that is, Hermione. But, Hermione! He made horns grow out of your head! I think most anyone would be more than a little affected by something like that."  
  
"I suppose you're right," Hermione nodded. "But, oh, that reminds me. I've got to be off, or McGonagal's like to make that three weeks." She hurriedly grabbed her things and started off.  
  
"You know, I need to be going too," Ron said rising from the table. "See ya later, Harry." Harry just sort of nodded, looking lost, as his two friends hurried away, leaving him alone at the table.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ron was running by the time he got up to the library, but he stopped as soon as he got in the door and was greeted by Madam Pince's death glare. Getting thrown out of the library at this time would be most inconvenient. He paused to look around and see if Malfoy had gotten there ahead of him. He didn't see him, and was just about to go sit at a table to wait when he heard a drawling voice off to the side. "Don't you ever walk anywhere, Weasel?" Ron ignored the question and it's tone, and headed over to a table partially obscured behind one of the book shelves and already piled high with a number of books.  
  
"Well, looks like you've gotten quite the head start." Ron wasn't sure, but he thought that maybe if he stayed completely civil to Malfoy, Malfoy would stay completely civil to him, and they might have a civil evening ... looking up ways to thwart Ron's sister. Ugh. Just thinking about it made Ron feel depressed and hopeless. He flopped into a chair across from Malfoy.  
  
"Yes, well," Draco's voice had lost its sneer, "wasn't really hungry..." Malfoy trailed off before looking up at Ron and shoving a stack of books in his direction. "Here, you can start with these. So far I've just done a basic search, so there are probably some books that I missed, but best to just get started." He then dropped a parchment, quill and ink down in front of Ron. "And take notes on anything interesting, that you think might be useful. It's pointless to have to read the books twice just because we forgot where that one important piece of information was located."  
  
Ron wrinkled his nose looking at the pile in front of him. "You're as bad as Hermione."  
  
Draco looked up from his notes, raising an eyebrow. "Let's hope that's the only trait I share with the Mudblood," he said in a cold voice, before looking down at his notes once more. "Now stop complaining. Or don't you want us to figure out what to do about your sister?"  
  
Ron pressed his lips together at the cold tone, but then on impulse, he reached out and put a hand on Draco's arm. Startled, Draco looked up. "Thanks for helping, Malfoy. It's not like you have to."  
  
For a second Draco didn't say anything, just looked sort of uncomfortable. "Yes I do," he said finally, shifting his arm out from under Ron's hand. "Now, we'd best get going."  
  
Ron sighed as he looked down, confronting the stack of books before him. Steeling himself, he pulled over the one off the top, opened it, and set to work.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"And I'll also expect you to come in at six o'clock every morning before breakfast for another hour of work. I hope you two weren't expecting to get off lightly for what you've done. These are very serious offenses and you should be grateful no one considered having you expelled." Hermione hung her head lower with every harsh word McGonagal uttered, looking like she wanted to curl up in a ball on the floor. Blaise, standing beside her, mimicked her posture, but wasn't listening too closely to McGonagal's tirade. His take on the situation was: he knew he wasn't supposed to do it, he did it anyway, now just let him be punished and get it over with. Granger really seemed to be taking it to heart, though, and he had to bite his lip to keep from smiling at that. He'd gotten her back, and good. He couldn't care less about the consequences on himself.  
  
After another five minutes of lecturing, McGonagal finally excused them. They had an essay due in her class the next day, so they were allowed one night without detention. Tomorrow it would begin. Blaise couldn't help smiling as they walked down the hall. Now it was Weasley's turn to keep her end of the bargain.  
  
"What are you smiling about?" Granger sounded to be in quite the bad mood. Blaise grinned wider. "You got into just as much trouble as I did."  
  
At this Blaise stopped and turned, putting on the most serious face he could manage. "You know Granger, you're right about that. But I have a thought. I think, that the trouble we got into today means a bloody hell of a lot more to you, than it does to me, and that the expression on your face when you snapped meant a lot more to me, than it did to you. Tooteloo." With that, Blaise turned and strode off down a side hall, leaving a scowling Hermione Granger behind him.  
  
When he reached the end of the hall, he headed down the stairs, making straight for the hall of deserted classrooms where Ginny had said she would meet him. He was perhaps a bit early, but he had his homework along anyway, so it really didn't matter. Besides, he always preferred to be the person who got there first. That way it would feel more like they were meeting on his territory.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Oh, here's something." Ron turned his book around and pointed to a paragraph half-way down the page. They'd been in the library for two hours already, and it was starting to feel as though their search would be more fruitless than they had first hoped.  
  
Draco leaned over and scrutinized the words Ron was pointing at. Ron thought Malfoy looked like he should be wearing glasses. Who knew that Malfoy could be so intensively studious?  
  
"Yes," Draco said. "Yes, I think I saw this bit when I took it off the shelf. Later on I think it mentions some specific cases. Why don't you go through and see if you can pick out all the things they have in common." Draco put the end of his quill in his mouth and started gnawing on it as he passed the book back to Ron.  
  
"Yeah, okay." Ron shook his sleeve back and turned to the next page, picking up his own quill as he did so.  
  
"What's that?" Draco used his quill to point to the simple bracelet circling Ron's wrist.  
  
Ron looked down at if for a moment, frowning. "Dunno. Hasn't it always been there?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess so." Draco looked far away for a second, but then he stuck his quill back in his mouth and went back to studying the text in front of him. With a sigh Ron did the same, hoping that the stuff he was looking at meant they were getting somewhere.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He had been several hours at his homework when there came a creak at the door and Blaise looked up to see Ginny Weasley entering the room, an enigmatic smile curling her lips. "Have any trouble with the little favor I asked you for?" Ginny's voice was pleasant and Blaise smiled as he put down his quill. He was definitely in a good mood.  
  
"It's done, as you asked. One of the other Slytherins owed me a favor and helped out. Though I have to say, I earned two weeks of detention doing it."  
  
"Oh, poor baby," Ginny pouted sympathetically. Coming over and sitting on the table, she ran her fingers through Blaise's hair soothingly. "You do know that I am eternally grateful?"  
  
Blaised reached up and touched a finger to her lips, stilling her. "Yes, well it wasn't exactly your gratitude I was looking for." He arched one eyebrow suggestively as Ginny's lips curled under his touch. Leaning forward, Ginny brought their lips together in a brief, teasing kiss.  
  
"Of that, my dear Slytherin, I am perfectly aware."  
  
Blaise felt her slip something onto his hand and he looked down to see a bracelet very similar to the one he had delivered to her brother. "What's this for?"  
  
Ginny came tauntingly close before responding. "Oh, that's just to make sure that this is extra special," she said before leaning in for a rough kiss. 


	40. Compassion

Updated: April 10th 2004  
  
  
  
Author's Note: Well, sorry about the long spaces inbetween updates, but busy-ness is reaching an unprecedented level for me right now. Hope you enjoy the chapter and again, thank you very much to my reviewers. (Also, I'm sorry if my spelling is worse than usual, but I'm having trouble getting things spell-checked.)  
  
  
  
  
  
chapter 40: COMPASSION - binding the trust  
  
  
  
  
  
"Aahhh," Ron growled before slamming his book shut with a loud bang. "You know, why can't they just have a book that's, like, the textbook on possession or something? Something that will just tell us what we need to know. I'm sick of trying to string together all these tiny bits and pieces."  
  
By this time, it was after eleven o'clock, and Ron didn't think he wanted to see another dusty old book on spirits, or curses, or banshees, or any of that stuff Ever Again. Ron probably would have gotten a stern lecture from Madam Pince on such an outburst in the library, but at about ten o'clock she had come by saying it was time for everyone to be leaving the library. Malfoy had then magically produced a note from Professor Snape, giving them permission to stay longer, so now they had the library all to themselves.  
  
"I know what you mean." Draco leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair, making bits of it stick up at funny angles. Any other time, Ron would have laughed at that, but now he was just too tired and thorougly sick of studying. "Well, let's look at what we've got so far. Maybe we can call it a night soon."  
  
Ron nodded and set his books to the side, shuffling through his notes to try to put them in some sort of order. He really wanted to be done with this soon. He'd been getting a strange feeling all night, that was slowly building on him, and now it was to the point that it felt like something was crawling under his skin. He just wanted to go to bed and hope that sleep would make the feeling go away. He felt all jittery and weird.  
  
"Hey, why didn't you mention this one when you wrote it down?" Malfoy was sounding rather snappish, but Ron figured he was simply as tired as Ron himself was. "You wrote right at the top 'How to tell if someone is possessed, and who or what is possessing them.' Isn't that what we've been looking for this whole time?"  
  
Ron leaned over and rested his forehead against his hand, groaning as a dizzy spell passed over him. "Look further down. It also says you have to lock them in a room for two days before you can be sure."  
  
"Oh." Though Ron wasn't looking, he could practically hear Draco's lip curling in annoyance. "Well, that's not very helpful. I don't suppose we could kidnap her for the weekend, then?"  
  
Ron just shook his head. There seemed to be something dark hovering at the edges of his vision and it was making it hard for him to think. Also, he kept thinking that he heard whispering off in one corner of the library. It almost sounded like it was coming from outside the window. Ron shook his head again to try and clear it. It was late and he was probably just hearing the wind.  
  
"Hmmm, well this is choice, just what we're looking for." Ron raised his head to see Draco looking at a page of notes, a sarcastic smile curling at the edges of his mouth. "It says here that people who are possessed, and I quote, 'will often act sort of funny, but in some cases will just act normal.'" Draco quirked an eyebrow and laid the paper to one side. "Fascinating piece of information that."  
  
Ron couldn't help chuckling. "Do you think they count performing strange rites of dark magic as 'acting sort of funny', or does that go into the normal bin for them?"  
  
Draco smirked. "I imagine it depends on whether they were previously in the habit of performing such rites." Draco frowned. "Was she?"  
  
"Was she what?"  
  
"In the habit of performing rites of dark magic."  
  
Ron frowned as well. "How the hell should I know? A body doesn't generally go around broadcasting such things, do they?"  
  
Draco put a hand to his forehead. "No, you're right." He sighed. "Maybe instead of possession, we should be looking up old magic. It might pertain more to what we're dealing with." He put his hands on the table, as though preparing to stand. "What do you say? Do you have it in you for a new round of books."  
  
Ron grit his teeth, but then nodded. As tired and disoriented as he was, he really wanted them to come away from this feeling like they'd learned Something.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Blaise Zabini was only dimly aware of what was going on. His mind had sunk down into the swirling of sensation that Ginny had begun to wash over him. He could scarce move for the overwhelming feeling of a fiery touch moving endlessly and engulfingly over his flesh. Nothing mattered anymore but that feeling.  
  
Ginny smiled as she watched Blaise drown in her caresses. Soon his mind would be so wrapped up in it all, that he would be as weak and defenseless as a newborn kitten. She ran her tongue along Blaise's throat as she relished that thought.  
  
Judging the time to be right, Ginny stood before using her wand to lift Blaise into the patch of starlight coming through the dusty window. The moon was low in the sky and blocked by the walls of the castle, but she could still hear it whispering to her, calling for her to begin. Turning smoothly, she walked over to her robes where they lay piled on the floor and drew her knife from one of the pockets. The dim light barely outlined the contours of Blaise's still, naked form, glinting only off the thin circle of metal around his wrist.  
  
"You don't know how I've waited for this," she whispered lovingly into his ear and lifted the knife, prepared to begin.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"What are you doing here, Weasley? We need to get back to work." Draco put a hand to Ron's shoulder and felt him flinch beneath his touch. He had come back to their table with a new stack of books, only to find that Ron had abandoned his notes and was instead standing in front of the window.  
  
"Can't you hear it?" Ron's voice was so faint Draco could barely make it out.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"The moon. Don't you hear it. It's singing. I can almost hear the words." Ron put a hand on the glass of the window and leaned forward. "Do you know what it's saying?"  
  
"No, I don't. Now, come on," Draco said sharply, tugging on Ron's sleeve. He was starting to feel more than a little worried. Something strange was going on.  
  
Ron seemed not to hear him and instead of turning, leaned closer to the window, pressing his face against the glass.  
  
"Weasely, come on!" Draco said again loudly, not sure what else to do. "Ron!" he finally shouted, whacking him across the shoulder as he did so. This, at last, brought a reaction, and Ron finally turned his head away from the window, blinking in confusion. "Ron, what's going on? Where were you?" For once in his life, Draco's composure slipped, and he could hear his voice shaking.  
  
"I..." Ron put a hand to his head, still looking dazed. "I don't know. I've been feeling..." Suddenly he blanched, swaying on his feet, and put a hand to the window frame to steady himself. Draco put a hand out, not knowing what to do. As he caught Ron's arm, Ron sank swiftly to the ground, shaking. "I don't... I can't..." Ron was so pale, that in the dim light he looked completely white.  
  
Feeling something wet, Draco looked down at his hand, to see a smudge of blood against his thumb. "Are you bleeding?" Ron seemed to hear him only dimly. Pulling out his wand, Draco pushed back Ron's sleeve and muttered a quick finite incantatem. He held back a gasp when he saw that all of the old scabs on Ron's arm had cracked, and were slowly leaking blood. As he scanned Ron's arm, for the second time that night, the bracelet circling Ron's wrist caught his attention. Something wasn't right about it. It seemed familiar, but even still, the way the moonlight seemed to catch and twist along its edge had a distinctly sinister feel.  
  
Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, Draco dropped his wand and grabbed Ron's wrist. He felt Ron tense at this, but before he could do anything Draco quickly grasped the metal loop and tugged it swiftly over Ron's hand, flinging it aside into a corner. A shudder passed through Ron, and Draco looked up to see fear darkening the boy's eyes. Along with the fear, however, came clarity.  
  
"Malfoy? What's going on?" Ron's voice was shaky and hoarse, but no longer held that far away sound from before.  
  
"You were talking about the moon. You said it was singing. And you're bleeding. I..." Draco drew a shaky breath. "I think your sister put that bracelet on you somehow. I think it was doing something to you." He swallowed a knot in his throat.  
  
Ron squeezed his eyes shut. "No. No, I think it's still doing something to me. It feels like there's something trying to get under my skin." He put a hand up to his neck, then brought it forward and looked down at his fingers. They, too, were red. "Why am I bleeding?" he whispered. "I can't be bleeding for her. I can't." Suddenly Ron brought up both hands and started struggling out of his robes. As soon as those were off, he quickly pulled his sweater and shirt over his head as well, leaving him naked from the waist up. "Is it everywhere? Can you see? Am I bleeding everywhere?  
  
Kneeling next to Ron, Draco was shaking, but he raised his wand and cast off the glamour. Ron was right. Everywhere that he had bitten Ron over the past month had opened up and was now slowly leaking blood across Ron's pale skin. Around thirty small wounds, dark red in the moonlight.  
  
Suddenly, Ron reached forward, gripping Draco tightly by the wrists and looking imploringly into his eyes. "You can't let her take it. She's taking it against my will. It isn't hers. I give it to you. Please. Take it before she steals it."  
  
Draco looked back intently into Ron's eyes. He felt like he should feel unsure, or panicked, or Something, but he wasn't. As soon as he had seen the dark blood marring Ron's pale skin, something inside of him had gone still and focused. He didn't feel afraid. Ron was right. The blood didn't belong to Ginny or whatever had control of her. Ron had given it to him, and he would take it. Draco nodded once, before freeing his hands from Ron's panicked grip. He grasped Ron's wrist and slowly lifted Ron's arm to his lips, putting his mouth to the nearest wound.  
  
He didn't suck out the blood like he usually did. In this situation that was hardly necessary, and would probably prove harmful to Ron. Instead, he licked carefully over the wound, taking up all of the blood that had already seeped out. Once done, that wound didn't seem to be bleeding any more and he moved on to the next.  
  
Through the connection of Ron's blood, Draco could feel the panic and revulsion that was wrapping itself around Ron. He was surprised that Ron appeared outwardly as calm as he did, for inside he felt on the verge of sobbing. Small tremors kept passing through him. Concentrating, Draco tried to project a feeling of assurance and calm. It was going to be ok. Usually it was Ron who was supposed to protect Draco, but Draco knew that in this, he could protect Ron. Gradually, the feeling of panic subsided to be replaced by a tentative feeling of trust.  
  
'Sssshhhhhhhhh... trustmetrustmetrustmetrustme...' Draco whispered in his mind.  
  
After going over all of the wounds on Ron's arm, Draco moved without pause up to those older one's covering Ron's upper chest and shoulder. Slowly, Ron's shaking subsided, and Draco could feel that the tension was flowing out of him.  
  
The bite marks were spaced closer together in this area, but Draco worked his way carefully from one to the next, letting his tongue glide gently over Ron's skin and making sure not a drop was left behind. The blood tasted so sweet, so pure, almost wholesome. Ron's flesh was warm beneath Draco's mouth, and tasted soothing and content.  
  
Finally, the only wound left untouched was the one on Ron's neck, at the base of his throat. Blood trailed from it in a line over Ron's collar bone and Draco had to move closer to Ron to gain better access. He started at the base and worked his way up, feeling encased in the warmth that was radiating outward from Ron's skin. It was like following a timeline of Ron's emotion. The drop at the bottom was bitter with fear and disgust, but as Draco followed it up, the bitterness was leached away and replaced with something so sweet, Draco would almost have called it love. Nothing so simple, but such that Draco ached with it, with the trust and the loyalty he could taste in Ron's flesh.  
  
As Draco reached Ron's throat, and licked away the last smudge of blood, he closed eyes, savoring it, before pulling away. That last drop rested on his tongue like warm velvet. Opening his eyes once more, Draco looked into Ron's face to see the red-head looking steadily back at him. His eyes seemed to be unveiled before him, showing such clear depths that Draco caught his breath. For a moment the two stayed still like that, looking silently back at each other. Then, slowly, keeping his eyes on Ron's as long as he could, Draco lowered his head back to Ron's neck. He ran his tongue gently over the now clean wound, feeling Ron shudder beneath him, shaking a bit himself. Carefully, he placed a soft kiss there, then another above it, working his way steadily up Ron's exposed throat to his jaw line.  
  
Draco's breath came only unevenly and Ron's lips were parted, his breathing staggered. They were both trembling. Before he could stop himself, before he had a chance to think better of it, Draco closed his eyes, and took the leap, quickly covering Ron's mouth with his own.  
  
It was like nothing he had ever felt before, something so sweet, and so urgent, and part of him just marveled that Ron was kissing him back. It seemed to go on for an eternity, and Draco was reminded of that warm, red place in his mind he had shared with Ron earlier that day, except here no words existed, words were trivial and unimportant. All that he needed was to feel his mouth moving against Ron's, to taste again the blood that lingered on his lips, and to just be.  
  
Finally their lips drew apart, but still they clung to each other. Unwilling to let go, Draco wrapped his arms tightly around Ron, pressing himself against his bare, smooth skin. It was the strangest thing, but in Ron's arms seemed to be the only place Draco truly felt safe. No matter what else, he knew that they would always trust in each other.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Feeling a shift in the magic, Ginny looked up from her task to stare long and hard into Blaise's vacant, glazed eyes. It felt as though her spell had suddenly lost a dimension, had flattened out into a hard edged shadow of itself. Staring into the space beyond the boy's eyes, she could sense the shift, could watch as the red light of the other was withdrawn. Reaching forward, she brushed her fingers over Blaise's eyes, shutting the lids. She didn't want to see what was no longer there. Oh, well. The Slytherin by himself would be enough. Bringing her brother into it had been too tempting not to try, but, in the end, it would matter little just how much blood was spilled tonight. In the end it would all be hers.  
  
Gazing down at the limp, pale boy beneath her, Ginny revelled in the sight of his blood splashed luridly against his flawless skin. She shuddered as she felt more of the change rippling through her, felt it molding itself into her bones. Its dark, icy fire played itself in exquisite contrast against the hot, sticky blood splashed across her own bare skin. Gripping her knife precisely, she looked down the length of Blaise consideringly. Perhaps a bit more. Yes. She could take a bit more before he needed to be put aside. 


	41. Hesitation

Updated April 25, 2004  
  
  
  
Author's Note: Well, not too much to say except thank you very much to those who reviewed the last chapter. I was hoping you would like it. This next is a bit different, but I hope you like it anyway.  
  
  
  
  
  
chapter 41: HESITATION - times of uncertainty  
  
  
  
Hermione ducked through the portrait hole, turning as she did so to shut it quietly behind her. Turning again, she prepared to head down to her hellishly early morning detention, but stopped.   
  
And stopped.   
  
The whole world seemed to stop as her thoughts froze in her head and her breath stilled in her lungs.  
  
Suddenly the world came back to her, jarring and swift, and Hermione flung herself to the side, retching, one hand on the wall the only thing keeping her upright.  
  
Shuddering as the last bits of non-existant food left the confines of her stomach, Hermione drew in several deep breaths before turning again to face the scene spread grotesquely before the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Blaise Zabini lay sprawled across the wall, apparently pinned there by the very same spell that had gotten him stuck during his fight with Hermione the day before. This time, though, all humor in the situation was lost, and the anger that had before shielded Hermione from feeling at all sorry at his predicament was absent.  
  
So much blood. There was just so much blood. His naked limbs were flung out to the sides, strewn seemingly at random. His skin, where it was visible, was so white that the thought that he might still be alive seemed ludicrous. Hermione didn't see any bruises, but the amount of blood splashed lewdly across his skin could hardly come from anything less than a severe beating.  
  
The analytical part of her mind told Hermione that it was a good thing she had been assigned detention so early in the morning. Had a group of younger students been the ones to discover this scene, the panic that would have swept the school would have been live and uncontrollable. Still shaking, Hermione drew another deep breath and stepped closer. Better to give a full report to Dumbledore than to go rushing into his office with little more to say than that a dead body had been hung on the wall and there was lots of blood. Looking closer, she had to bite down hard on her lip to keep from crying out. She had been wrong. It wasn't a beating. The wounds were all far too clean. It had to have been a knife. Who would do such a thing? Hermione frowned. It was hard to be sure, but the larger wounds looked cauterized, possibly to stop bleeding. But why would they do that? Violence had obviously been the aim here.  
  
Hermione's breath caught as a realization struck her, and her skin went clammy and cold. Could Zabini still be alive? Could he still be alive and she had just been standing here gawking? He was so pale, so still, and there was so much blood, but she should have checked first, anyway. What had she been thinking? Reaching a hand up swiftly, Hermione put her fingers to his throat, searching for a pulse. She was struck that his skin was cold, but still warm enough to hint at life. Her fear deepened and she cursed herself for a fool. There, just barely perceptible. Blaise's heart was moving blood weak and unsteady through his veins.  
  
With confirmation that he lived, a million thoughts and facts raced through Hermione's mind at once. She didn't dare to run and get a teacher first. Who knew how tenuous his grasp on life was at this point. He had lost so much blood. He would need more and Hermione's research on the blood root for Ron immediately came to mind, but she couldn't do anything about that right now. If she could get him to Madame Pomfrey, the nurse should well be able to take care of that. Also, how long he had been out here? His skin really was quite cold and if he stayed cold too long, he could fall beyond the point of anyone being able to help him. At least this was something Hermione could take care of. Warming spells had never been a problem for her. Lifting her wand, she spoke the spell twice, hoping that that would reinforce it and warm him up more quickly.  
  
The main problem was getting him to Madame Pomfrey, though. Normally she would have just used a levitation charm and it would have been easy enough, but she wasn't sure how to deal with the fact that he was stuck up on the wall. Yesterday, it had taken Professor McGonagal many tries before she was able to manage to get Zabini down, and even then Hermione suspected that a combination of factors had gone into the final solution. Hermione didn't have the time or knowledge to try to do the same here.  
  
She started shaking harder, a terror that she wouldn't be able to do it, wouldn't be able to get help in time and he would die spread throughout her body, rattling her limbs. She would fail. Failure was bad enough, but for it to cost someone their life as well, the thought alone nearly overpowered her. Clenching her fists at her sides, Hermione forced herself to calm down, forced herself to breathe evenly. Panicking now would solve nothing. She had made it out of threatening situations before, she could do it again.  
  
What did she know of the problem?: Zabini had to get the infirmary. The easiest way to do something like that was levitation. But he was stuck to the wall. However, stuck to the wall was actually misleading. A closer definition of the situation was that, for Blaise Zabini, gravity had been redirected into the nearest wall. He was really lying on the wall. With a satisfying click, it fell into place. Hermione would levitate him "above" the wall, and would just have to be careful to always stay close to a wall so that she didn't "drop" him.  
  
Once this all came clear, Hermione was ready for action, all morning drowsiness and the effects of shock forgotten. Lifting her wand, she spoke a variation of the spell every first-year was expected to master, and lifted Zabini as gently as she could "up" from the wall so that he hovered about two feet away from it. Then she set off, setting as direct a course for the hospital wing as she could that stayed away from too much open space.  
  
She had only one difficulty where, when she needed to turn right, she realized that Blaize was hovering above the left wall and would somehow need to cross the hallway. She finally managed it, though, when she realized that if she could just levitate him high enough, the nearest wall would become the opposite wall and Zabini's "gravity" would switch to that. It only worked too well and she almost slammed him into the next wall before she caught him. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest at the near-miss, knowing only too well that such an impact might have proven fatal.  
  
Tightening her grip on her nerves, Hermione hurried on. She would not let this boy die. On a normal day she just wanted to smash his ugly, Slytherin face in, but she was damned if she'd let him have the satisfaction of dying while under her care. Somehow, she thought he would have found it a decent trade-off, just for the satisfaction of her failure.  
  
Rounding a corner, Hermione let out a startled gasp as she almost ran full on into Harry coming the other way and carrying his broom.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Draco groaned. The sun was hitting his face at the wrong angle and his pillow wasn't nearly as comfortable as it usually was. For several disconcerting moments, Draco Malfoy was extremely confused. Then the events of the night came back to him and he groaned again as he realized that he must of fallen asleep while studying with Ron in the library. Letting his eyes flutter open, he squinted against the bright light, barely making out the unruly, red mop of Ron's hair sticking up on the other side of a stack of books.  
  
Draco vaguely wondered what time it was, and if he and Ron were going to be late for Potions, but then decided that it must still be fairly early. Madame Pince would have had no qualms about kicking them out of the library if she had come back to find them still there, and drooling on her precious books no less.  
  
Attempting to sit up, Draco winced as his neck protested mightily to the treatment. That had to have been the least comfortable position possible to sleep in. It even felt like part of his scalp had gone numb, and he felt a headache coming on. Not feeling up to standing just yet, Draco decided on throwing his pencil at Ron to wake him up. The boy twitched as it bounced off his head, but otherwise remained unmoving.  
  
"Oy, Weasel. Wake up." Draco's voice came out dry and crackly, definitely a morning voice, but the words still seemed to do the trick. Ron lifted his head, squinting and scowling. From the look on his face, his neck didn't feel any better than did Draco's.  
  
"Malfoy? What time is it?" Ron ended his question in a yawn, so the last two words sort of blended together into one long vowel.  
  
Time? Now that Ron mentioned it, Draco did have a watch. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled it out and stared at it for a long time in puzzlement. Quarter to four? Draco frowned. That couldn't be right.  
  
"S'Wrong one," Ron volunteered in another yawn, before launching himself into a full-body stretch that had Draco wondering how he didn't just snap in half. He stared at Ron blearily for a minute, before realizing what he had meant and shoving the watch Dumbledore had given him back into his pocket. Pulling out his real watch, he rubbed at his eyes before looking down to see that it was a quarter to seven. Ugh. Madame Pince would be coming pretty soon, and they both needed to go get ready for their classes.  
  
Draco was just about to suggest that they clean up the books and get ready to go when he heard a snicker from the other side of the table. He looked over to see Ron staring at him with ill-concealed humor, his mouth twisting in a pathetic attempt not to smile. "What's wrong with you now?" Draco wasn't in a good mood. It wasn't even bloody seven o'clock, he'd slept in the library, and now Weasley was laughing at Something. Draco scowled.  
  
Ron just looked back at him innocently, raising his eyebrows and tapping his forehead significantly.  
  
Draco was in no mood for charades. "What? You just realized you have a gerbil running loose inside your skull?" Why did Ron have to act so goofy all the time?  
  
Ron started snickering again, probably in response to the mental image Draco had presented. Finally getting himself under control, he straightened in his chair and said as seriously as he could, "No, you prat. Your forehead says," Ron screwed up his face and squinted at Draco, "loo'ohss et foe echee'ick a 'sblow boold et." Ron grinned proudly after this prouncement. Draco just raised an eyebrow, still too groggy to really process what Ron had just said. After a moment of no response from Draco, Ron finally explained. "Ink. On. Your. Forehead. Malfoy. Of course, the letters are backwards so the book probably says something else."  
  
Blinking several times as he processed this information, Draco put a hand to his forehead and looked down at the book spread open in front of him to see that yes, in fact, one section in the middle of the page was a bit blurry. "Fuck," he muttered, squinting down at the book to see what the words that had been so wonderfully transferred to his head actually said. "'The blood holds a piece of the soul.' Does that make any sense to you, Weasely?"  
  
"Totally indecipherable," was all Ron said, not sounding like he really cared.  
  
Noting the page number, Draco flipped the book shut and read the title. 'Dark Magic Through the Ages.' Sounded like it had some potential at least. Too bad he'd been mostly incoherent when he'd gotten around to looking at it last night. Before he fell asleep in the book. And got inkprint on his face. Damn It. Things like that simply shouldn't happen to a Malfoy. Scowling, he scrubbed at his head with his fingers, hoping against hope that it would rid him of the annoying writing. "Any better," he asked dejectedly, too tired to get out a proper sneer. He looked up at Ron to see him just smiling bemusedly.  
  
"No," he said slowly, "Now it just looks like a drunk wrote on your forehead." Ron grinned. Draco did not appreciate the comparison. Then the frightening expression of a bright idea flashed across Ron's face. "But let me try something," he said, pulling out his wand. Draco watched warily as the wand was leveled at his head. "Valitudine Erroris." Draco winced, expecting to feel something, but there was no sensation and nothing seemed to happen.  
  
"Well, did it work?" he asked, finally.  
  
Ron put down his wand, looking tired. "No." Then Ron cocked his head to one side, looking at Draco intently and Draco began to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny. "Were your eyes always green?"  
  
"Green?" Draco couldn't imagine what Ron was talking about. "Of course not. Only my grandmother has green eyes. All Malfoys' eyes are blue."  
  
"Well, they're green now."  
  
"You're telling me that that stupid glamour left the ink splotch visible on my forehead, but turned my eyes green. Why the bloody hell would it do that? It's not like people with green eyes are healthier than people with blue eyes. It never did anything to your eyes."  
  
Ron just shrugged.  
  
"Well, take it off," Draco snapped. "If you, of all people, noticed that my eyes changed color, I'm sure someone else will."  
  
"Yes, me of all people," Ron grumbled, clearly not pleased with Draco's comment. Still, he lifted his wand and banished the glamour.  
  
Draco looked down at his watch to see that it was now five to seven. They really needed to get going. "Quick, help me put the books back," he said, snatching a stack off the table and hurrying over to the book shelves.  
  
"Why do we have to put them away?" Ron whined, following behind Draco with his own stack. "Why can't we just let the house elves do it?"  
  
Turning to give Ron an impatient glare, Draco saw that the red-head looked to be just shoving the books in where ever they would fit. "Do you really want anyone to know what we've been looking for?" he asked with an exaggerated sneer. He decided not to say anything about the random shelving. They really didn't have much time. At his words, Ron just wrinkled his nose and continued stuffing the books onto the shelf.  
  
Returning to the table, Draco found that there were only a couple more books left, scattered across it, including the one he had managed to fall asleep in. Well, that one had looked promising. He certainly didn't want to leave it to Ron's haphazard shelving. He'd never see it again. Pulling out his bookbag, he quickly slipped it inside. When he looked up again, he found Ron standing there looking at him with a quirked eyebrow, before he bent to scoop the rest of the books off the table.  
  
"What, not going to lecture me on morals, Weasley?"  
  
Ron just snorted as he headed off toward the bookshelves. "Yeah. As if I haven't pinched a book or two in my time." Draco wasn't sure what to think of that statement, as he'd never thought of books as being the sort of thing Weasley might steal. He decided to ignore it. Casting an eye critically over their table, he supposed it looked normal enough.  
  
Then Ron was back, grabbing up his bookbag, and they were heading toward the doors of the library. Draco paused just outside, unsure of what to do next. He settled on the time. "Yeah, well, it's seven o'clock now. We should probably be off."  
  
As soon as he said the time, Ron got a panicked look on his face. "Already! Bloody Hell! I've got to shower before breakfast." In a flailing of arms and legs and robes Ron dashed quickly past Draco and down the hall. Draco just looked bemusedly after him as the pounding of footsteps faded away. He put a hand to his cheek where it tingled, the memory of the hasty kiss Ron had planted there lingering. 


	42. Lasceration

Updated: 5-5-04  
  
  
  
Author's Note: Ok, here's the next chapter. It's a tad short, but hopefully you'll forgive me for that, yes? Once again, thank you to my reviewers. Hope you enjoy.  
  
  
  
  
  
chapter 42: LASCERATION - an open wound  
  
  
  
  
  
Dashing through the portrait hole, Harry nearly collided with Seamus, who was on his way out. "Sorry," he muttered, continuing on his way up to the dormitory. "Hey," he yelled, spinning around as he realized who it was he had almost plowed down. "Have you seen Ron?"  
  
Seamus shrugged. "I don't think he's up yet."  
  
"Thanks." Harry hurried up the stairs, his knuckles standing out white where he clutched his broom in one hand. His heart was thudding hard in his chest with a combination of nervous fear and adrenaline.  
  
He'd been in shock most of the time since he'd run into Hermione. As soon as he'd seen all of that blood, the part of him that wanted to scream and freak-out was shut out, walling away all the distraction of emotions. He'd just gone into action mode, immediately assisting Hermione in getting Zabini down to the infirmary, and casting aside all matters of House politics. Once they'd gotten down there, Madame Pomfrey had required their assistance. The wounds had covered the boy's body so extensively, that it had been necessary to have someone keeping him stable, while another worked on the healing. That was, of course, without even taking the matter of Zabini's messed up gravity into account. Afterwards Harry had been sent to fetch Dumbledore, while Hermione had gone after McGonagal.  
  
All of the action had kept Harry from thinking too closely about what was going on. As soon as it was over, though, certain doubts and worries had begun to creep up on him until now Harry was in a state of full-blown, panicked paranoia. He couldn't believe that what had happened to Zabini and what was going on with Ron and Malfoy weren't somehow related, and he was very, very afraid for his friend.  
  
Up in the tower, Harry rushed over and pushed aside the curtains around Ron's bed. It was empty. The bed clothes were rumpled, but that didn't really say anything. Ron almost never made his bed. For a moment, panic overwhelmed Harry's senses and he stood frozen, not knowing what to do, but convinced that something horrible had happened to Ron. Finally, a reasonable part of his brain kicked in, made him take a deep breath, and then suggested that Ron might be in the showers. Doing his best to keep from running, Harry took another deep breath, and headed down.  
  
As soon as he entered the showers, Harry felt relief crash over him in a wave. There was Ron, looking totally normal, standing across the room. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and his back was to Harry, but that distinctive red hair made him recognizable anywhere. "Hey, Ron!"  
  
Ron turned, the serious expression on his face turning into a smile as soon as he saw Harry. "Hey, Harry."  
  
Harry couldn't help but grin back, the relief he felt at seeing his friend safe was palpable. As he crossed the room over to Ron, though, something caught his attention that made his skin go cold. All along one side, dotting Ron's arm, shoulder and chest, were a multitude of misshapen wounds in various stages of healing. Harry couldn't believe how many there were, and suddenly he was reminded of the dream he had had, of watching Ron writhing in a pool of his own blood as more and more wounds blossomed over his skin. The parallels between the dream and what he had seen that morning with Zabini made Harry shudder. How much had Ron bled for Malfoy? And if a person were capable of scarring his friend so savagely, what else might they do? What kind of monster could they become? The smile died on Harry's lips, and fear once again washed into his heart.  
  
  
  
  
  
Running all the way, Ron had made it back to Gryffindor tower and managed to shower in record time, and was pleased to assure himself that he would not be missing breakfast. He felt disappointed that he and Draco hadn't managed to find much the night before. In fact, there was a lot about that night that was disturbing, or else he wasn't sure what to think of it, so he was doing his best Not to think of it at the moment. Better just to think about how he really needed to try to pay attention in Potions, and what he would do about the fact that he hadn't written his Transfiguration essay yet.  
  
He was just about to head up to the dorm for clean clothes, when he heard someone enter the room behind him. "Hey, Ron!"  
  
Ron turned, smiling to see that it was Harry. Just being around Harry might cheer him up and help keep his mind off certain matters he wasn't prepared to think about. "Hey, Harry." Harry smiled and walked toward him.  
  
Without warning, Harry's smile died on his lips, and the color drained from his face. Worried, Ron put a hand out to Harry's shoulder. "Harry?" he asked, not knowing what had suddenly gone wrong. Then he saw the direction of Harry's gaze. Looking down, he realized what Harry had seen. They'd forgotten to put the glamour back. How could they have forgotten? How could his vigilance have slipped and let this happen? Standing there in front of Harry without the glamour, with this other part of himself exposed, Ron suddenly felt very naked.  
  
Ron reached quickly for his robe, but he was stopped by Harry's hand on his wrist. "How can he DO this to you?" Harry's voice was harsh, and when Ron looked up he saw an ugly, hate filled expression clouding his face. His eyes, usually so bright and friendly, were now dark and angry, and Ron wished desperately that he could erase the image of that expression on Harry's face from his mind. "How can you LET him do this to you?!"  
  
The words stabbed through Ron like a knife. Harry had no idea what he was asking, had no idea of the darkness that was attached to that question. Ron squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tears prick at his lashes, as the memory of a similar question echoed through his mind, as well as the bloody scene that had followed. Lucius Malfoy hadn't understood, either, and death had been the result.  
  
Firming his resolve, Ron opened his eyes and stared directly back into Harry's angry eyes. "Never ask that question again, Harry."  
  
Harry dropped his wrist in disgust, and Ron quickly snatched up his robes, flinging them around his shoulders. "Why? Because you're afraid to face what's happening? Because you're afraid to see him for the monster he truly is? You can't let this keep going on, Ron. You've got to do something."  
  
"Monster? Harry, do you even know what you're saying?" Ron's voice was pleading but he was also starting to get very angry. "THIS isn't the problem," he said, gesturing towards the still exposed marks on his chest. "It's questions like that that are the problem, Harry. They only lead to darkness, and violence. Can't you understand?"  
  
"Violence?" Harry snorted. "And what do you call that?" he shouted. "What I SEE is my best friend covered in scars. What I've SEEN is Zabini lying half dead in the infirmary, because some psychopathic MONSTER took a knife to him and practically cut him to ribbons!" Harry put his hands to his face. "There was so much blood, Ron. You wouldn't believe. There was just so much blood."  
  
Ron stood frozen in place. What had she done? He had thought that they'd stopped her for at least a little bit last night. Now it sounded like there had been more than just him involved. "What happened, Harry?" All emotion had gone out of Ron's voice. He didn't dare let it show through. He was afraid it might overwhelm him.  
  
Harry took his hands away from his head and looked up at Ron fiercely. "What happened?! What happened is Hermione found Blaise Zabini hung up on the wall outside the common room this morning, Ron. Hung up like some sick trophy. He was naked and covered in so many cuts we weren't able to count them. He was this close to being dead." Harry advanced on Ron and took him roughly by the shoulders. "You can't pretend he's not dangerous, Ron. You can't pretend that he's just some victim. He's not."  
  
Ron pushed himself out of Harry's grasp and walked away a few paces. "Why do you assume it was Malfoy who did that, Harry? Why are you so convinced he's a villain?"  
  
"And why are you so convinced he's innocent?" Harry flung his hands up in the air. "He's possessed by a demon, Ron! He's never had any morals, and now this! Who else would it be? He's capable of anything!"  
  
Ron's eyes flashed dangerously. "Draco didn't do it, Harry."  
  
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Why are you defending him?" He took a menacing step forward. "And how can you be sure? How do you know it wasn't him?"  
  
"It wasn't him." Ron's voice was dark and firm, and he enunciated each word very clearly.  
  
"How do you know?!" Harry shouted. He was now standing nose to nose with Ron and the two boys were glaring into each other's eyes.  
  
Ron pressed his lips together in a tight line. He couldn't tell Harry why he knew that Malfoy didn't do it. Harry wouldn't believe him anyway. If he told him that they'd both been in the library all night, Harry would want to know why, and he would certainly never believe that Ginny had anything to do with it. Despite the fact that Ginny had been possessed once in their second year, Harry would never believe her guilty over Draco, or would say that Draco was using some sort of magic to force her to do those things. Either way, he would find ways to see his own way, no matter what Ron argued.  
  
Ron hated fighting with his friend like this, but right now there was nothing he could do about it. "I'll see you in class, Harry," he said, then turned and walked out the door. 


	43. Reflection

Updated: 5-27-04  
  
Author's Note: Ok, SO sorry it's taken me so long to get this next chapter up. Everything is just so crazy right now. Well, this chapter's a tad strange but hope you like it anyway. Love and thanks to those who have reviewed.  
  
chapter 43: REFLECTION - mirror of the self  
  
Ginny kept her eyes closed and pretended to be asleep while the other Gryffindor girls in her year got up, got dressed and, finally left for breakfast. Once they had all gone, and the room had fallen silent, Ginny rolled over onto her back and let her eyes fall open. She stared up at the ceiling, only barely registering the spidery crack that twisted its way over her bed, as she thought back on her dreams.  
  
By now the dreams were so familiar, were so much a part of herself, that she would have felt incomplete if she were to stop having them. The dream she had had that night, however, was different from most of them. It reminded her more of the first ones, the ones she had started to have after the summer of her first year.  
  
She had felt so bereft then, so weak, and out of place. What had happened with Tom Riddle and the Chamber of Secrets...she couldn't get it out of her mind, couldn't get past it. She spent her days in a pantomime of a normal life, while all the time visions of what had happened flickered endlessly through the back of her mind. She couldn't help but feel that she had been the one responsible, that it was her weakness that had allowed what had happened to happen, allowed her to be used.  
  
Her weakness. She despised it. It existed only to be exploited by others. Lying in her bed, Ginny smiled to think that soon, so soon, all traces of that weakness would be gone. The one in the dreams had told her, and she knew that he spoke nothing but the truth.  
  
That summer Ginny had spent much of her time hiding in sleep, trying to forget the things her waking mind couldn't lay aside, trying to forget how much she loathed herself. In the grey world of a perpetual doze, her brain would finally shut down. Numb, she could rest. It was then that the dreams came to her, when he came to her, strong and powerful, and it was a refuge from the emptiness of her life.  
  
He had frightened her at first. There was no denying the darkness that he was, but it was the very fact of her fear that had finally resolved her to facing him. It was then that she saw, too, his strength. His was a will of steel, a will that was bowed by no one, a will that could battle eons without wavering. He never knew self-hate, only righteous anger, and Ginny knew then that she would do anything to match her will to his.  
  
And so had been those first dreams, coaxing, tempting, full of the sweet promises she knew held no lies. They had revelled together in the joy and the triumph that their success would bring, in the beauty of the righteousness which they would restore to the world. And he had begun to show her power. Power such as she had never known existed. Power that would be hers when she forged her will in steel, when she reached out boldly and claimed the birthright that was hers.  
  
He needed her, of course. Why else would he bother to tempt a weakling such as herself, to promise to teach her? Their will would be steel, but it would only be together that they would find triumph. She knew this, savored this power that she held over him. But she knew, too, his patience, knew that down the long slipping eons of time, hers was not the only hand that could stand to grant him his goal, not the only will that could match with him and unleash the power. If she failed, he would not mourn her. He would simply wait. The centuries were nothing next to his indomitable will.  
  
She would not fail. She would not be denied that which another after her would then have a chance to grasp. Lying still in her bed, feeling the cold fire lick along her bones, Ginny savored her successes. The afterimages of her dreams crooned to her of the triumphs that were to come and smoldered along the edges of her heart, weighting it, turning it to stone. Cradled in the old magic of mankind's genesis, she smiled to herself, before slipping back on the mask of her innocence and rising from her bed. Above her head, the crack in the ceiling shifted, sending out another small, hairline tendril.  
  
Draco Malfoy stared blankly at the book open before him. He knew this was a key, but he was having trouble processing all of the implications. The blurry words on the open page seemed to stare back at him and he had the strange impression that if he stared too long at them they would just fade away and leave him with a lingering mystery. 'The blood holds a piece of the soul.' He felt shaky just reading the words, as if he knew what they meant instinctively, but wasn't prepared to acknowledge it with his conscious mind.  
  
Blood magic. That's what this section of the book was devoted to. Blood magic had been used to raise the demon all those many many centuries before, had been used to chain it. One of the ancient magics. A magic hardly anyone ever dared use. Old as it was, it was unrefined and sometimes seemed to have purposes of its own that could never be perfectly understood by the witches and wizards of today.  
  
But Ginny was using it. Of that Draco was becoming more and more certain. But to what end? And there was something else he couldn't quite put his finger on. It wasn't unheard of for some wizards to start dabbling in the old arts. He was fairly certain that Voldemort had drawn some of his power from them. Yet, what Ginny had done with Ron seemed like more than just dabbling. Maybe she had come across an old text that had described a ceremony like the one she had orchestrated, but some instinctive part of Draco doubted it. Who would practice with new magic on themselves? Especially with something as potentially dangerous as blood magic. At the same time, Draco was coming more and more to agree with Ron that she wasn't possessed. He couldn't say why, but he was becoming convinced that taking care of this problem was going to take more than a simple exorcism. And the seeds...The seeds were significant somehow.  
  
Draco was startled out of his musings by the door opening and someone coming into the classroom. He looked up just as Ron made his way over, dropping several round, doughy lumps in front of him.  
  
"What are these?"  
  
"Spinach rolls." Ron flopped down in the chair beside Draco, his legs sprawling out to the sides so that one of them pressed up against Draco's knee. "I decided I'd rather eat breakfast in here with you."  
  
Draco thought about shifting so that they were no longer touching, but then didn't. The warm contact was somehow comforting. It made him feel more grounded, and helped distract him from the dark thoughts he had been having before Ron came in.  
  
Draco picked up one of the rolls and looked at it dubiously. It was a pale, sickly green. "How did you know I'd be in here?"  
  
Ron looked up from picking at his own roll and half shrugged. He seemed sort of distant, as though he were trying to close himself off. "You're here, aren't you?" Draco just looked at him, and Ron's mouth twisted up into a strange smile. "You still have ink on your forehead, you know."  
  
Draco pressed his lips together and made an ineffectual swipe at his forehead. "Yeah, thanks for reminding me."  
  
Ron took out his wand and pointed it straight at Draco's forehead. "Pugare Erroris," he said before Draco had a chance to protest. "There, I remembered it from when I was looking up the other glamour."  
  
Draco raised his eyebrows uncertainly. "Is it gone?"  
  
Ron tucked his wand back in his robes and just smirked at Draco. "Technically? No. It's a glamour to make you look clean."  
  
Draco snorted incredulously. "Imagine that," he sneered, "the Weasley can remember a spell to hide the mess, but not to actually clean it up."  
  
Ron just crossed his arms and sneered right back, "Imagine that, a Malfoy gets dirty and has to wait for someone else to do something about it." He sighed then, and turned back to his spinach rolls and Draco was reminded just how strange Ron's behavior was at that moment.  
  
"What's wrong with you? Why aren't you at breakfast devouring a full plate of eggs?" Draco laughed self-deprecatingly. "I know my company is utterly enthralling, but not even Potter can stand between you and food. It always scares me when I glance over at the Gryffindor table."  
  
Ron sighed again and drew his legs together, tucking them under his chair. Draco felt a moment of regret for the withdrawal of that spot of warmth.  
  
Staying hunched over his rolls and not looking up, Ron finally said. "She got Zabini."  
  
Draco went still at the words. "What do you mean?"  
  
Ron bit his lip and finally looked up at Draco. His eyes were haunted and he looked lost. "Harry said Hermione found him outside the Gryffindor common room cut up and bleeding and almost dead. Harry...He thinks you did it." Ron looked guilty as he said this.  
  
"I didn't." Draco knew the statement was unnecessary, but he had to say it anyway.  
  
"I know that." Ron reached out suddenly and grabbed a hold of Draco's hand, looking intently into his eyes. Draco flinched at the unexpected contact, but still managed to hold Ron's gaze, resisting the urge to snatch his hand away. "But now Harry's thinking of you as a threat."  
  
"And?"  
  
Ron dropped Draco's hand and looked down. "And, I don't know. All the years he's been at Hogwarts, one of Harry's primary goals was survival. When he discovered a threat, he found a way to neutralize it. We have to be careful of him. I don't know what he might take it into his head to do."  
  
This was too much. Draco shook his head and forcibly put the matter from his mind. They needed to deal with one problem at a time. "Your sister's using blood magic." When Ron didn't say anything, he continued. "I know we basically already knew that, but I've been thinking about it, and I think it might be worse than we first realized. What she did with you and what she did to Zabini may be just a taste of what she's planning to do. And she's got guidance. I think you're right, I don't think she's possessed, but she's gotten knowledge from somewhere. That ceremony she preformed with you, it was too precise to be the result of muddled experimentation."  
  
Ron wrapped his arms around himself and continued to stare down at his knees. "So what do we do?"  
  
Draco sighed and propped his head on his hand on the desk. "I'm not sure. We need to find out more about what kind of magic she's using; I think this book here is a good start. We also need to find out what, ultimately, she wants, and find a way to prevent her from getting it."  
  
Ron leaned forward, resting his forehead on the desk and covering the back of his head with his hands. "I can't believe we're talking about my little sister here. I can't believe she would do this. She's always been the normal one."  
  
Draco could hear footsteps filtering in from out in the hallway. Class would be starting soon. Before he could say anything to Ron, one of the Gryffindors came in, looking curiously over at the two boys. Ron lifted his head to see who it was and gave a weak wave of his hand, before unconsciously shifting closer to Draco. Draco understood, right now it was them against the rest.  
  
Harry stood outside the Potions classroom, waiting for Hermione to show up so he could talk to her. He almost missed her when she came down with a group of the other Gryffindor girls, but managed to snag her arm at the last minute. "Hey, what did McGonagal say?"  
  
Hermione looked annoyed at being detained, but answered him anyway. "All she said was that we shouldn't talk about it to anyone until the teachers figure out what's going on, and that I don't have detention anymore." Hermione's face was blank and Harry figured she was still trying to deal with what had happened that morning. "Did Dumbledore say anything? Did you talk to Ron?"  
  
Harry grimaced. "No, Dumbledore just said I shouldn't talk to anyone and told me to go to breakfast. Ron, though..." Harry sighed in frustration, resisting the urge to grind his teeth. "He insists Malfoy didn't do it. Won't say why he thinks so, just refuses to see reason. And he had all these half-healed scars all over his arm and chest. I don't know why he defends that bastard. Can't he see that Malfoy's dangerous?!" Agitated, Harry ran a hand through his hair, knowing in the back of his mind that it was going to make it stick up at impossible angles.  
  
"I know, Harry." Hermione frowned and shifted her book bag up higher on her shoulder. "He sounded really sympathetic towards Malfoy when I talked to him, too. At the time it seemed to sort of make sense, but now... It had to have been a monster that did that to Zabini, and it's a monster that's got control of Malfoy. I can't think of any other explanation."  
  
"We've got to do something, Hermione. Ron won't listen to us."  
  
"Yes..." Hermione stared off into space, biting at her lip. "Yes, I'm thinking about it. First I need to try to find out more about this demon. Maybe there's something in the restricted section." She trailed off, and Harry realized that that was about as far as they were going to get with the conversation. Unhappily, they turned and entered the Potions classroom.  
  
Harry frowned when he saw that Ron and Malfoy were already in there. They didn't seem to be talking to each other, but they were sitting close together and both were staring off into the space at the head of the classroom. Uneasiness settled in the pit of Harry's stomach. Something needed to be done, but what? He thought about trying to get Ron's attention, but then decided that after the argument in the showers, Ron probably wasn't speaking to him at the moment. Resigned, Harry sighed and took his seat. First to get through another day of Potions. 


	44. Fermentation

Updated: 6-11-04  
  
Author's Note: Ok, so sorry that it's taking so long between updates. Right now I sort of know where I want this story to go, but not so well how to get there. Thank you so much to those who reviewed. I was surprised by the long reviews but pleased by the enthusiasm for the story. Thank you, you help keep me going.  
  
To SOPHIE B: If you really would like to archive this story, you are welcome, but you'll have to pull it of ff with copy-paste as my document handling skills are extremely minimal. I'm glad you like the story so far.  
  
Chapter 44: FERMENTATION - a mind's brew  
  
The images in my head are like old photographs, moving and smiling, but at the same time distant and detached, silent. There isn't any sound in my memories. I wonder if that's normal. It's always been like that. I can remember images and emotions, but no sound, and hardly any color. I say my memories, but these aren't all my memories, most of them aren't mine at all, just flashes of things I can almost understand.  
  
"...the ten uses of mandrake root, to be handed in first thing Tuesday morning..."  
  
I know my attention is wandering dangerously during Snape's start-of-class lecture, but I can't help it. It feels like something else is whispering to me, trying to get my attention, but it's like I'm under water and can only barely feel the sound of another's voice.  
  
The way the wind was playing with her hair, making it dance in the sunlight. The feeling of the grass, wet with morning dew, squishing under my feet and brushing my bare ankles as we ran, chasing the shadows. Bill, Charlie and the twins darting back and forth above us on their brooms, diving sometimes to scare us and make us laugh. Her hand is tight in mine and the sun is warm on our backs as we run with the breeze and the shadows.  
  
"...and be sure to add the frogs eyes BEFORE the scarabs wings, or whoever tries the potion will feel like their throat is on fire for the rest of the day..."  
  
A vague part of my brain has enough sense to be grateful that Malfoy's my partner in Potions now, as there is absolutely no way I can focus enough to catch all of what Snape is saying. If I were partnered with Harry, something vital would most definitely be forgotten, but I know Draco will keep me from killing myself with a botched potion, even if only because his grade depends on it too. Funny, but I think I'm beginning to trust him.  
  
She got tired of running and plopped down in a clump of daisies. Her hair blew in her face and covered her eyes as she grinned up at me. Then she was still so little that sitting, the daisies came up to her head. When I ran by the next time, chased by Charlie on his broom, she had picked a bunch of the flowers and was busy stringing them together. One chain was already looped haphazardly over her head in a lopsided crown. The sunlight dazzled as it shone off the white petals.  
  
"...do you want to fetch the ingredients, or shall I?"  
  
I scoot my chair in to let Draco past me. There is no way I'd get everything we needed if I went up there, and then he'd just have to go up and fetch what I'd forgotten anyway. While he's gone, I get out the cauldron, placing in directly in the center of the table. Then the rest of the various implements. Stirring stick, knife, because I vaguely remember that this potion requires slices of some root. I can't help noticing the textures of things. The way the metal of the cauldron is somehow coarse, yet smooth at the same time, cool. The dents in the handle of the old knife. Waiting for Malfoy to get back, I sit tracing the wood grain in the table. Some of the lines have been deepened over the years by people tracing them with their quills. I follow these with my finger, sliding over the smooth edges.  
  
Someone else running through the grass and grinning against the wind. Three bothers swooped out of the sky on their brooms, the one in front reminding me vaguely of my father. Their robes billowed playfully in the breeze and they soared high again, circling lazily overhead like birds of prey. The other one stood still and stared up at them, then spun in a circle to mimic their motion from the ground. A raindrop landed on the tip of his nose and he grinned, dropping to the ground to lie looking up at his brothers still wheeling madly, dizzily overhead.  
  
"...give me the knife before you cut yourself. Grind up the scarab's wings instead."  
  
The knife is taken from my hand and the roots I was working on. A mortor and pestel are placed before me instead. It takes me a minute to realize that first I need to put the wings in the bowl. They lay cluttered in the bottom like fallen leaves, and it is a minute before I can raise the pestel to crush them. Some of the bits flutter up and stick to my fingertips and knuckles. They're light. I can barely feel them. It's almost strange not having sounds with these images.  
  
The boy ran through the leaves at the edge of the forest, kicking them up as he went. He could feel them crunch satisfyingly beneath his feet, and the crisp air nipped at his cheeks and felt sweet in his lungs. It was just after dusk and there was a thrill running up his spine at doing something he ought not. He could just see clouds whisping on the horizon to the west and he raced towards them, ignoring the small branches that whipped at him. Small shadows flitted about to the sides, and he grinned, the euphoria of running rising up in his chest and almost making it hard to breath. More branches whipped at his face as the shadows grew deeper.  
  
"...stop, Weasley, the wings are done."  
  
The words filter into my consciousness and I stop, finally seeing what I'm looking at. The wings have been reduced to a fine, black powder that wouldn't get any finer even if I kept grinding it all night. No wonder Draco sounded cross. I hand everything over to him as I try to remember what comes next. Someone sneezes behind me, and I glance back, seeing Harry going at his scarab wings with a vengeance. The expression on his face is closed off and focused, almost angry. Smells come with some of the images, too. Just not sound.  
  
The scent of earth and flowers lay thick and heavy on the still, evening air. The bush towered up to the left, conspiring with the side of the house to block out most of the sky. Only patches of it showed through, pale and colorless beside the dark silhouette of the leaves. The stillness felt like waiting. Waiting and getting ready for something to happen. Another shadow blocked out the last patches of the sky, and the boy stood, gripping the offered hand tightly in his own. The time had come to finish it.  
  
"...has to be stirred continually while I pour this in. Remember, counter-clockwise."  
  
I'm gripping the stirring stick tightly between my fingers, trying to concentrate on stirring steadily and not bumping Draco as he pours in the ground scarab's wings. There's a slight bump in the stirrer, right under my thumb, and I rub at it absently, feeling out its shape. His hands are rock steady as he pours in the powder, confident, like he's done this a million times and could do it in his sleep. I've never really looked at his hands before. Like the rest of his skin, they are very pale. The nails are cut short and look well tended. His fingers are longer than I realized, and not as thin as I would have thought. Strong. Quidditch hands. There are calluses along his palms from gripping his broom. Idly I consider the way the light glances off his fingers, compared to the way it shines off of the metal stirring stick. There is something cold about it in both cases, though skin softens the hard edge.  
  
The boy stood, one hand on his father's shoulder where he knelt on the ground, and peered at the thing his father held in his hands. It looked soft, the feathers long and slightly ruffled. It also looked very dead. Nothing living would ever be that still, would ever twist itself at that angle. His father held it out to him and the boy took it hesitantly, startled at how stiff, how light. His fingers curled into the downy feathers and tentatively he reached out and touched the beak, small and sharp against his thumb. Then his father took the dead bird away and handed him something else. The beetle was set in his palm, but quickly began climbing towards his fingers and over his thumb. It reached the tip of his finger, and his father reached over and set the boy's thumb over it's back, trapping it. The boy looked up at his father uncertainly and his father looked back steadily, holding up his hand and pressing his own thumb and forefinger together tightly. The beetle's legs tickled at the edges of his finger as he pressed with his thumb. There was a strange, squishing crunch of the shell and the legs stopped twitching. His finger felt sort of sticky, and what was left of the beetle looked very black against his pale skin.  
  
"...stirring for another five minutes. I have to go ask Professor Snape something."  
  
I'm glad Draco's given me the simple jobs like stirring. I can do stirring. Stirring is my kind of thing, especially with my concentration like it is right now. I feel like my mind is the sun and the day is overcast. Things keep slipping into and out of focus, and not always the things I would expect. The back of my mind knows that I'm avoiding thinking about it. The lack of concentration thing is just to help me forget. I think. I stare into the potion, watching it swirl around and around. It's a deep forest green right now, but I think it's supposed to be black by the time it's ready. I glance up to where Draco is talking to Snape and wonder vaguely what it's about. My curiosity doesn't hold, though, and I start looking only at their posture, the way Snape has to lean forward slightly because he is taller, how they gesture with their hands, the fall of hair and robes. Today my mind can't process, but only observe. Snape glances up at me briefly and I notice that from here I can't make out the color of his eyes.  
  
It felt like it must be very late, but the boy was still up reading. The light from the fire cast moving shadows over the pages of the book and deepened the black of the letters. Suddenly, an older boy entered the room and the boy looked up from his book to watch him pass. He was covered in blood, it even matted his blond hair into clumpy strands, and the boy pressed himself into his chair as inconspicuously as possible. It wasn't the blood that made him look so threatening, though. It was his eyes. They weren't steady, focused on one thing like most. Instead they seemed to shift, flashing through a myriad of emotions at once, struggling back and forth between different extremes. His eyes weren't the eyes of a boy about to finish school. They were younger, and older than that, innocent in a way only a very young child's can be, or a soldier just returned from war. In his eyes there was no time, and he walked as though completely unaware of himself.  
  
"...ladle your potion into the bottle and bring it up to the front of the class once it's been labeled. I want each partner to taste it and note the effects in your notes."  
  
I set the stirring stick to the side and step back as Draco moves in to ladle out our potion. It's quite black by now, and looks something like molasses, though it's got a deep green tinge to it. I wish I could remember what it's for, but that was something Snape said at the beginning of the class, and even though the name of the potion is written on the board, it's in Latin. I hate making potions when I can't remember what they're for. The effect always seems to come as a nasty shock. Malfoy licks some of the potion off his finger, grimacing slightly at the taste, before handing the ladle over to me so I can do the same. It's not as bad I as expect, though strangely spicy. Malfoy looks like he's waiting for something, so I figure the potion must take a couple of minutes to take effect. My mouth feels really dry.  
  
Her skin beneath my fingers, beneath the knife, was so soft, was so pale against the dark contrast of the cuts and her blood. It was like a dark fire burning inside of her, burning through her blood and hollowing her out inside. It was hard to imagine that this strange girl, naked and carved all over with archaic symbols, was somehow my sister. I couldn't see her eyes, but the knife I held flashed wantonly, and I could see a strange otherness trembling through her hands. Her hair spilled carelessly to one side, untouched by the blood.  
  
"...you crying? Ron. Ron, open your eyes."  
  
I flinch and open my eyes to see that Malfoy is standing in front of me, grasping me firmly by the shoulders. He's looking intently into my eyes, looking more concerned than I would have thought possible for a Malfoy a year ago. His grip relaxes when my eyes open, but he still seems tense. I reach up, putting a hand to my cheek, and find it wet. I look at my hand in confusion.  
  
"Is she getting to you again?" He actually sounds worried, and I look back at him, shaking my head.  
  
"Only the memories." He presses his lips together in a tight line and I feel like I have to say something more. "It was like a dark fire was burning her blood."  
  
"I know." His hands fall away from my shoulders and he looks tired. I glance around the room to see if anyone noticed our strange behavior, but find that most of the class is staring at the walls, or up at the ceiling. I look back at Draco and notice something.  
  
"Your eyes are green again."  
  
He looks startled. "Of course. Yours are too. That's what the potion does, gives you pixy vision; turns your eyes green and makes it so you can see through walls and things. Don't you remember?"  
  
"No." He just gives me a strange look when I don't elaborate. "You know, Ginny's the youngest, too," I think aloud. "How often do you think that's happened? That the youngest Weasley son wasn't the youngest Weasley?"  
  
"I've no idea," Draco turns away to stare through the wall at the back of the potions classroom. I look there too, and can just make out the ratty couch we've both become so familiar with over the last month. 


	45. Mastication

Updated: 7-3-04  
  
.  
  
Author's Note: Ok, I'm SO sorry it's taken me so long to update. My attention has been divided my a million different things lately and this just got lost in the shuffle. In any case. Thank you thank you to my reviewers. You mean so much to me. This chapter isn't quite so weird as the last one. I hope you like it in any event.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Chapter 45: MASTICATION - battling friendships  
  
.  
  
"I'm on to you, Malfoy."  
  
Draco paused on his way down one of the corridors that lead into to the dungeons. Turning to look back over his shoulder, he curled his lip in a bitter sneer. "Oh, are you, Potter? What am I up to this time?"  
  
Harry ripped the invisibility cloak aside and strode angrily toward the Slytherin. "Don't play dumb with me," he snarled. "I know what you've been up to; I've seen what you've done. It's sickening."  
  
Draco sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Is it? Well, I know what you think you saw, and I will agree that it is monstrous." He added a twist of his lips and a gruesome leer to the last statement, though internally he was trying his hardest to block out the images of what Ginny had forced Ron to do, of the way her body had been so mutilated.  
  
"So you will admit to it." Harry stepped aggressively forward and Draco inwardly clenched his teeth at the display. Potter was correct in assuming that the incident with Zabini was indicative of a threat, but when The-Boy-Who-Was-Still-Around got worked up about something he could become quite aggravating, not to mention, dangerously meddlesome.  
  
Draco refused to back up at Harry's advance, however. "I admit no such thing, and you would be well advised to forget any plans of recognizance or revenge you may have concerning me. They're a waste of my time." He knew that this probably wasn't the most effective way to get Potter off his (and Ron's) back, but right now it was the only way he knew of how to deal with the annoying git.  
  
"What, can't be bothered to have someone stand up to you, Malfoy? Mustn't be checked in doing whatever the bloody hell you want, no matter who you hurt? Think we'll all just stand by and watch?"  
  
"That's right." Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Apparently sarcasm was completely lost on the boy wonder. He briefly considered stupefying Potter and leaving him for Filch to find, but decided that that really would only add fuel to his fire, not that it needed it.  
  
Besides, yep, there was Potter's wand, at the ready, looking like Potter was preparing to stab him with it. Instead of stabbing him, though, Harry shoved against his shoulder, causing him to stumble backward. He hissed when the back of his head thumped against the wall, but otherwise maintained his iron sneer.  
  
"I know you, Malfoy," Harry growled into Draco's face. "You're a coward, and a pathetic excuse for humanity, just like your father. You're doing this because you think your pureblood heritage means you can get away with murder, but really it's just another way of trying to convince yourself that you're better than everyone else when you know you're not. Not on my watch. Not on my watch will I let you hurt him."  
  
"What? You think you can protect him, Potter?" Draco shoved the boy out of his face and stepped smoothly away from the wall. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. You think you know evil because you killed Voldemort?" He laughed bitterly. "Well, good for you. You managed to destroy the face of your personal demon." Draco squeezed his eyes shut briefly, trying to reign in his anger. This was supposed to be Ron's friend, and here he was trying to dispense vigilante justice without first having any clue about what the fuck was going on. When he opened his eyes again, Draco willed that they would burn into Potter's soul, that they leave a mark. "You've fought your battles. This isn't one of them. Stop before you end up hurting someone. Learn how to be a real friend."  
  
Harry snarled, ugly in his rage, and raised his wand threateningly. "Who are you to lecture me on friendship, Malfoy? You and your kind are the original back-stabbers. A snake has more friends than you, and loyalty is completely beyond your reach."  
  
Draco was about to say something about how back-stabbing was an essential survival skill that Potter had obviously perfected, but was interrupted by the cold voice of his head-of-house. "You will lower your wand immediately, Mr. Potter, before I deduct 60 points from Gryffindor."  
  
Harry sputtered and snarled as Snape came up behind him and plucked the wand from his fingers, clearly catching himself just short of cursing the Professor into the nearest grave. In the end all he managed to get out was, "Not to be trusted."  
  
"I realize that you're concerned, Mr. Potter, however I have reason to believe that Mr. Malfoy was in no way involved with the attack last night." Harry just continued to scowl. "Believe that or not as you wish," Snape went on, handing the wand back to Harry, "but either way you'd best be on your way." Draco allowed a smug smile to settle on his lips, just because he knew how the other boy would hate it. He was pleased to see the stiffening of Potter's shoulders before he whirled and stalked off down the hall.  
  
"You were on your way to my offices, I presume." Draco turned to see that Professor Snape was looking down at him, a disapproving tilt to his eyebrow. He allowed his smirk to relax into a more neutral expression.  
  
"Yes, Sir," he said, as Snape turned and started off, black robes swirling.  
  
"You heard what happened to Zabini?" Snape didn't deign to look back.  
  
"Weasley told me something about it. Will he be alright?"  
  
"Yes." Snape's voice was grim but his stride continued unrelenting down the hall. "Though it will be quite some time before he is able to leave his bed." Snape paused in the doorway to let Draco go ahead of him. "The scars may never fully heal."  
  
.   
  
.  
  
.  
  
Harry had only just made it to the first intersection down the hall when a sharp pain in his ear yanked him off his feet and into a side corridor.  
  
"Harry, what's gotten into you?" Hermione hissed, shaking her wand accusingly an inch from his nose. "Have you gone insane? We don't know what Malfoy's capable of."  
  
Still angry, Harry scowled and shoved Hermione away from him. "He can't go around thinking he can do this, Hermione! It's not right. And it's not right for us to go slinking about, trying to stay out of his way, looking for proof it was him. We know it was him, who else could it be? And I don't want our proof to come in the form of another victim." Harry crossed his arms and started pacing back and forth in the small corridor. "If he would do something like that to his own house-mate, next time he might do it to ANYone. Who knows, next time it might even be Ron." The thought was almost too much for Harry, and he had to clench his teeth to keep himself from screaming.  
  
"He won't kill Ron, Harry. Remember, Ron was very clear that Malfoy's as much a victim as anyone if the demon gets out. How can he keep the demon at bay if Ron's dead?"  
  
Harry shook his head impatiently. "No, I don't know, it just doesn't add up. There's something else Ron's not telling us, I can feel it, and I'm afraid. Hermione, I'm so afraid that whatever he's not telling us will be the thing that means he's the next one we find half dead, or worse."  
  
"I'm afraid, too, Harry." Hermoine had taken a lock of her hair and was twisting it so tightly around her finger that her fingertip had gone white. "But why do you think that threatening Malfoy will solve anything? You could have gotten into serious trouble. I don't know why you didn't end up with six weeks detention just now or been expelled, but that would be the least of it. Now that he knows we know, what if he decides to do something about it?"  
  
"He wouldn't risk it. It would be too obvious, especially now that Snape caught us arguing about it. Besides, I think he already knew anyway."  
  
Hermione looked up sharply. "What do you mean, he already knew? You mean he already knew that we know? How?"  
  
Harry snorted derisively. "How do you think, Hermione? Ron told him." Hermione just frowned and bit her lip, so Harry continued. "I don't like it, Hermimone. Why was Ron defending him this morning? It's like he's switched sides or something, I don't know. Gah!!" Harry half screamed at the wall, before continuing his pacing. "Maybe Malfoy has him brainwashed somehow, or is using some spell to mess with his head." Harry slammed the side of his fist into the stone wall, instantly regretting it but too pissed-off not to do it again. But then he slumped to the floor. "I just wish we could trust him. I mean, it's Ron." Harry's voice cracked and he clenched his fists, trying to keep himself together.  
  
"I know, Harry." Hermione knelt down next to him and put a hand to his shoulder.  
  
"It's like..." Harry clenched his teeth for a moment and then continued. "It's like he's disappeared. One day we find out he's been keeping this massive secret from us and before you know it, it seems he'll talk more to Malfoy than to us. Why won't he talk to us, Hermione? Aren't we his friends? Why can't we trust him to tell us what's going on?" Harry clenched his eyes shut before snarling and slamming his fist into the wall once more, making Hermione jump. "And all I can think is that Malfoy's behind it all. And whatever he's doing to Ron, I want it to stop. I want my friend back."  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
"Make it stop. Make it stop. I'm sorry, so sorry. I didn't mean to." Ron was huddled on the couch, rocking back and forth and staring at the floor and Draco had absolutely no idea what to do.  
  
"Ron?" he asked, hesitantly stepping toward the couch, momentarily forgetting that he was pissed-off about the spat with Potter in the corridor. "Ron?" Ron didn't seem to hear him, just continued to rock. His eyes never left the floor and the pleading flood of words never ceased to fall from his lips.  
  
"Weasley, what's going on?" Draco put a hand to Ron's shoulder, only to feel the boy shudder beneath his touch.  
  
"I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. I tried to stop." The ragged words only grew louder as Draco shook Ron's shoulder. The red-head was practically sobbing as he spoke and the words tumbled out between staggered gasps for air, though his eyes, fixed on the floor, remained dry and wide open. Draco didn't have to imagine what Ron was seeing, he'd seen it himself, though he knew he had felt only a fraction of the helplessness and terror that Ron had experienced. Next time he saw Ginny Weasley he was going to wring her skinny, little neck. She'd certainly done enough to deserve it.  
  
"Nooooooo," Ron put his fists to his ears and began keening. Draco felt about ready to panic. Whipping out his wand, he cast a hasty silencing spell to keep Professor Snape from decending on them before turning back to Ron.  
  
Still grasping his wand in one fist, Draco took the Weasley by the shoulders, shaking him, trying to snap him out of it. "What's going on, Ron? What happened?" He tried to keep his voice level and calm, thinking it would be better to sound reassuring than to start freaking out like the boy in front of him. Still, Ron didn't hear him.  
  
"I didn't want to. I didn't mean to." Ron's voice was barely a whisper but Draco thought it had to be better than the screaming.  
  
"I know you didn't, it wasn't your fault. Ron, look at me." Draco had stopped shaking Ron, but still the boy's eyes remained glued to the floor.  
  
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Stop. Stop." With every word, Ron's voice began to grow louder and louder once again and Draco started shaking him again roughly by the shoulders.  
  
"Ron, look at me. Ron, stop. Just stop." By now Draco was shaking him with such force that Ron's head was being jerked back and forth on his shoulders. "Weasley, you bastard! Snap out of it." At this point Draco was yelling too and it was a good thing he'd set that silencing spell or the whole castle would have been able to hear the two of them at this point. Draco thought about smacking Ron to try and shock him out of his hysteria, but that sounded too much like what you did with some stupid woman who was freaking out. Instead he just settled for screaming at Ron louder.  
  
"It's my fault!" Ron's eyes snapped up to stare into Draco's own, blazing with anger and grief, then he flung his arms away from his head, sending Draco sprawling backwards off the couch. "Don't you understand?! It's all my fault!" Ron roared, standing over Draco.  
  
Letting go of his wand, Draco scrambled to his feet, anger drawing his lips into a snarl. "You've gone mad," he screamed right back at Ron and right in his face. "Why can't you get a hold of yourself? Why can't you just get over it?"  
  
"Get over it?" Ron yelled. His fists were no longer clenched at his sides but were now raised threatening. "Have you got any idea what I've done? Harry thinks you're the monster, but it's really me. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't stop."  
  
Draco didn't even flinch but instead let go all of his pent up anger and punched Ron as hard as he absolutely could in the jaw, sending the boy reeling backwards onto the couch. "You haven't done a bloody thing, you stupid git," he screamed. "She had you under the imperious curse."  
  
Ron looked up from the couch, anger still darkening his eyes and his lips drawn back in a snarl. "I hate you," he said, before launching himself at the blond boy.  
  
What ensued can be described no better than as an all-out brawl, with neither boy gaining the upper hand and both resorting to anything from punching to hair pulling to biting. Both sustained multiple injuries and even the couch didn't escape unscathed.  
  
Finally, it ended in a stale-mate with Ron pinning Draco down while Draco had Ron in a head lock. Both were exhausted, breathing like they'd just run five miles flat out. With a shudder Draco let go his choke hold and Ron rolled off the Slytherin to lie flat out on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. For a while they just lay like that, Draco curled up slightly to one side around what felt like a cracked rib, and blood running down a cut in Ron's lip. He stared up at the bare, white ceiling with only one eye, the other quickly closing up and beginning to turn a fine shade of plum.  
  
"Why is this happening?" Ron had to work around the swelling in his lip, but he still managed to get the words out clearly enough. "Every time I look at something, all I can see is darkness. That night and the knife. It's like a veil in front of my eyes. I can't cast it off. It's driving me mad."  
  
Draco groaned and rolled over, sitting up and propping himself against the couch. "That bitch." Spitting out a gob of blood, he winced at the sting on the inside of his cheek. Now THAT was going to be a spectacular bruise. At his words Ron looked over at him sharply but Draco was NOT about to apologize. "She's a bitch, Ron, and next time I see her, I'll kill her. I don't care if I have to tear her apart with my bare hands. I don't care if they pack me off to jail to rot. I just want her dead."  
  
Ron made a choking sound. For him the hatred wasn't so straightforward. "You better not, Malfoy," he finally managed. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life baby-sitting you in some stupid jail. Azkaban really doesn't sound like it'd suit me."  
  
Rolling his head against the couch, Draco looked over at Ron and grinned lopsidedly. "Yeah, you're right. Wouldn't suit me either. Imagine what the laundry service is like."  
  
Ron snorted, immediately wishing he hadn't, then struggled up into a sitting position. "What, Malfoy," he asked in mock surprise, "you're actually aware that work goes into keeping your clothes clean?" He sniffed, wiping a hand across his mildly throbbing nose. "Besides, I bet dank stone wall would go perfectly with your complexion. Bring out the color in your eyes, it would."  
  
Malfoy smirked and felt a small cut in the corner of his mouth tear a bit more. "Get over here, Weasley," he commanded, gesturing with one hand before letting it flop back down to his side. "I don't think I'm gonna move for a least two more minutes, but the last time I managed to bite you, there was about a centimeter of fabric in the way."  
  
"Yeah, I noticed." Ron scowled, rubbing his shoulder. "Would you believe it hurt more than when you bite normally." He scooted over towards Draco, pulling up his sleeve to expose his as yet relatively unmarked left arm. "I think this arm is feeling more up to it today, and it's closer."  
  
Draco almost grinned, if a Malfoy ever dared grin, before lifting the arm to his mouth and biting carefully into the tender flesh. It tasted salty and refreshing in a strange sort of way and he relished the warmth of it before pulling away to lick up the stray drops that welled to the surface.  
  
Ron squirmed a bit under his touch. "That tickles." Draco snorted disbelievingly and looked up to see Ron struggling not to grin. Draco narrowed his eyes.  
  
"Tickles, does it?" he asked dangerously. "I'll show you tickles." And with that, half shocked at his own daring, he leaned forward quickly and pressed his lips roughly against Ron's own. Ron flinched at the contact, his split lip protesting the fresh assault, but he quickly relaxed and kissed Draco back just as harshly. He nipped at his lip, and traced the angles of Draco's teeth with his tongue, before boldly deepening the kiss.  
  
All the last bits of anger had finally drained out of both boys by the time they drew apart. Draco, one hand clasping the back of Ron's neck, leaned his forehead against Ron's. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, wishing that they could just stay sitting there on the floor forever. Opening his eyes, he saw that Ron had also closed his. "It'll be ok, Ron." He reached up to press his lips to Ron's forehead. "We'll figure this out. It'll be ok." Ron just nodded and for several minutes neither boy moved. 


	46. Desolation

Updated: 7-28-04  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Author's Note: I know, I know, I say it every time, but really, I'm sorry it always takes me so long to update. I'd offer excuses, but all the ones I can think of sound lame. Again, thank you thank you to those that have reviewed. It does me good to know that others are still reading the story. Anyway, hope you like this chapter, though I apologize for the slow-moving plot.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Chapter 46: DESOLATION - a shutting away  
  
.  
  
.   
  
"Hold still."  
  
"I am holding still."  
  
"Not still enough, you're not."  
  
"What's still enough if you can't keep your hand steady. It's never gonna work. I'll just say I tripped and fell down the stairs."  
  
"Draco Malfoy admitting to tripping." Ron snorted. "No one would believe it. Then they'd REALLY wonder what happened." Ron gripped Draco's chin firmly. "Now quit talking. It makes your head move." Ron pointed his wand carefully at Draco's cheek. "Valitudine Erroris. Damnit, Malfoy! You blinked."  
  
"What, so now I'm not allowed to blink?" Draco shook his face out of Ron's grasp.  
  
"Not when it makes me lose my concentration, you're not." Ron waved his wand again. "Finite Incantatem. At least it was only the one eye this time."  
  
"Oh, yes," Draco sneered. "Because one green eye is SO much less noticeable than two. And since when does my blinking affect your concentration?"  
  
"Since this is a bloody slippery spell," Ron growled. "Now come here. I almost had it that time." He grabbed Malfoy's chin again and carefully aimed his wand. For his part, Draco did his best not to blink. "Valitudine Erroris." Ron lifted his wand away and inspected his work critically. "There, I think I got it that time."  
  
"Well it's about bloody time." Draco moved his head away and made to get up. "I thought we were gonna be in here the rest of the afternoon."  
  
"Not yet, you've still got a split in your lip." Ron grabbed for Draco's chin once more and Draco resisted the urge to punch him again. "Besides," Ron continued, "If you didn't have such shifty eye-color we could have just cast a general glamour and been done with it."   
  
Draco just pouted, declining to comment on that. "I thought you already got the lip."  
  
"Valitudine Erroris. I did, but it went away when I was messing with your cheek." Ron put his wand down, surveying Draco's face. "I think that's it. If you can stop grimacing every time you swallow, I don't think anyone will notice anything."  
  
"And what about you?" Draco stood up carefully from the couch, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain in his side. "You're still lisping around that cut in your lip."  
  
"Well, what do you suggest I do?" Ron stood as well. He looked a little wobbly at first, but then managed to steady himself well enough. "My lip's about twice it's normal size, and my depth perception's for shit with this eye," he muttered.  
  
"Just tell yourself it doesn't hurt." Draco did his best to sound brisk and confident, ignoring the reference to Ron's black eye, but he couldn't keep himself from hissing in pain as he bent to retrieve his wand from the couch. Stupid, bloody ribs. Ron looked slightly concerned at this but said nothing. Just as well. Merlin knew, the last thing Draco wanted was to have someone hovering over him. What a mess they both were. "Well, it's probably easier to decide now. Are we meeting in the library after dinner again tonight? I've got another note from Snape with permission to stay late. I think a couple of the books looked promising. Deserve another look at least."  
  
"Can't after dinner." Ron grimaced, this time in distaste. "This week's an observing night in Astronomy. Don't think we're supposed to be done before 10:30."  
  
Draco quirked an eyebrow. "But it's quarter moon already, and it won't even set until midnight. What does she expect you to observe?"  
  
Ron shrugged in resignation. "Beats me. Something about easier to pick out the first magnitude stars. Bullocks if you ask me. I think she's predicting it'll frost tonight and just wants to torture us all with numb hands. At least we stopped observing the planets for Trelawny. She used to make us stay up all night because she said sleep deprivation helped open the doors to prophesy. Only doors it seemed to open for her were being accident prone. Almost pitched herself right off the Astronomy tower one time ranting about Harry and some alignment between Saturn and Jupiter that was supposed to happen sometime."  
  
Draco's lips quirked at the image, and he was just about to suggest that maybe next time someone ought to help her over the edge, when Professor Snape strode into the room, looking thunderous. "If I EVER catch you using a silencing spell in here again, rest assured you will both be scrubbing out every cauldron in this school, FIFTY times if need be. You are NEVER to remove yourselves thus from my supervision again. Is that clear?" A bit shocked by the sudden, angry onslaught, both boys nodded mutely. "Now, remove the spell immediately and be on your ways."  
  
Draco hastened to do as Snape asked. "We just didn't want to disturb you, Professor," he said quickly as soon as the spell was banished.  
  
Snape looked piercingly at Draco. "I do not care what you intended, or say you intended, Mr. Malfoy. It is my duty to insure that nothing untoward happens to either of you while you are here. Do you understand?"  
  
Draco lifted his head hautily and looked his professor squarely in the eye. "You don't trust me, Professor?"  
  
"It is not my place to trust, or distrust, either of you." Briefly, Snape's gaze shifted over to Ron, and he was momentarily disconcerted to see the Weasley looking back at him just as boldly as was Draco. "Now get to your classes, before this foolishness makes you late for a second time."  
  
Draco's lips were pressed into a cold line, his back Malfoy straight as he strode swiftly from the room, followed closely by Ron. His eyes flashed dangerously when Ron put a hand to his arm to stop him once they reached the hall. "He knows what your father did to my uncle."  
  
Draco's face remained cold and impassive. "I imagine he does. Can't imagine why he wouldn't if he knows about the rest of it." He turned to continue down the hall but Ron stopped him again.  
  
"No. I mean he saw him, your father, right after. I think it scared him. He might not remember it, but..."  
  
Still, no crack appeared in the mask of Draco's expression, and he didn't bother to ask how Ron knew this. "I am not my father."  
  
"I know, but..."  
  
"I am not my father." With that, Draco turned and continued on down the hall, only the slightest hitch in his step hinting at the bruising in his ribs. Ron sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes, before heading off for Gryffindor Tower. A cold feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. If he wasn't mistaken, he had an essay due in Transfiguration in an hour and he hadn't even started it.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
"Bloody...!" Ron tripped on his way through the portrait hole and with a loud thump landed sprawled out in the Gryffindor common room. He groaned. That did not feel good.  
  
"Ron! Are you ok?"  
  
Ron half propped himself up and turned to look warily over at Hermione. Did she stand with Harry on the whole Draco-as-a-monster theory? Squinting his good eye a bit, he noticed that her concerned eyes flashed a bit with green. "And who have you been spying on, Hermione?" he asked, groaning again before working to pick himself up off the floor.  
  
Hermione flushed, looking at the floor and biting her lip. "Zabini. I just wanted to make sure he was going to be ok," she added quickly. "He's down off the wall at least. And before that..." she hesitated. "I saw Malfoy hit you. You mustn't let him bully you, Ron. Just because you've got to, well..., it doesn't mean he's the boss of you. You should stand up for what is right."  
  
Ron closed his eyes, praying for patience and a slower heart-beat. This was not his day. "And what else did you see, Hermione?"  
  
"I, well..." She looked down at the floor. "Filch was coming, and I figured Snape would take care of it..." She sounded guilty at having, as she thought, abandoned him to the mercy of Draco Malfoy. Ron was just glad she hadn't seen more than the fight. That, at least, looked normal, whatever normal was these days.  
  
"Yeah, well, don't worry, Hermione. I socked him a good one back." He tried to make his tone light, but clearly it wasn't enough to calm her. She frowned.  
  
"You be careful, Ron. I don't want you getting hurt. And tell us, won't you?, if anything is going on." She stepped forward and put a hand to his shoulder. "We're your friends..."  
  
"Malfoy didn't do it, Hermione," Ron interrupted her, saying it as firmly as he could. In this, if nothing else, he wanted to make his stance perfectly clear. If that was all she was going to talk about, then he had nothing more to say to her. "I've got to go do homework," he said quickly, shrugging out from under her hand, before she could add anything more, then hurried up to the boys' dormitory. All he wanted right now was to write his essay and try to forget that any of the rest of this was happening. It was a vain hope. Even as he opened the door to the dorm images of that night flickered over the wood, every stroke of the knife retelling its bloody tale in his mind.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
"Did you do it?" Harry stepped out from under his invisibility cloak, making Hermione jump slightly.  
  
"Yes, well, I think it should do. We still don't know how well it will work. Without a full isolation period..."  
  
"It'll be fine, Hermione. We just need to find out if his mind is his own, that's all." Harry sounded firm and determined. His eyes had that faraway look they used to get all the time when he would be thinking about what to do about Voldemort. "If he's still himself and just really doesn't know, then maybe we can still reason with him." Hermione was less certain. She stood, fidgeting slightly, one hand twisting a strand of hair mercilessly around her fingers as she worried her lip.  
  
"I don't like this, Harry. We shouldn't be doing it. What if he finds out? Then he'll never trust us again."  
  
"We do what we have to do, like always." Harry looked over at her, his eyes hard. "Cast the rest of the spell, Hermione."  
  
Hermione seemed to crumble a little bit at this, but she moved over to the couch where a dusty looking book lay open on one of the cushions. She continued to speak, but her words no longer held any conviction. "Just be glad I even found this spell," she half grumbled. "The book was horribly misshelved. It's pure coincidence, really, that I was able to locate it, and that it had anything remotely valuable...But the full spell is much more powerful, this part of it can only give us a shadow of what might be going on...." She trailed off, muttering the incantation to herself to learn it before casting it.  
  
Harry didn't bother to answer her. She had said that the spell would detect any magic aimed at affecting a person's mind. That was all he cared about. The thought of magic, dark and insidious, wrapping itself around his friend's mind was almost more than he could bear, but he pushed thoughts of it from him. This was battle, and until it was confirmed, it was no use worrying about what might be, only about what might be done.  
  
Hermione came up silently behind him. Harry turned to see that her expression had settled into one of hardened resolve. "It's done. The link established should now alert me to any strong surges of magical influence." She sighed and her shoulders dropped just a bit. "Of course, if he won't talk to us about it, and I highly doubt that he's going to talk to us at all, then we can't really be sure. The connection's weak, static-y almost. Without direct confrontation of the issue, I don't think I could say for sure one way or the other."  
  
"Then we'll just have to figure out some other way to make him confront it." Harry grabbed his books and headed out the portrait hole. Hermione followed and they quickly made their way toward the Transfiguration classroom. They were almost there when they ran into Ginny coming the other way.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Ron indulged himself by wincing at the pain in his knee as he made his way down to dinner. He was so tired, and thinking ahead just made him more weary. If he could only rest, if these dark thoughts would just stop slipping through his mind and he could close his eyes for a moment without being afraid of what he might dream. Transfiguration had been hard, though it had been a rest from the visions of his sister. Every time he had glimpsed Draco out of the corner of his eye he had been assaulted with images of long dark corridors and a bone chilling cold, of impassive faces and scattered bones. The whole ordeal had left him feeling drained. Only the thought of dinner kept him moving onward instead of straight up to his bed, visions or no visions.  
  
Caught up, as he was, in focusing on looking straight ahead, of blocking out the flickery images he could see in the peripheral, he was unprepared for what came next: a pale, slender hand on his shoulder and the voice of his sister telling him they needed talk. For a moment he stood frozen. Her cold presence was like a steel pin through his heart, and quickly a blind panic was rising up within him, telling him to run. Catching his breath he lurched to the side, out from under her touch, and whirled to face her.  
  
"I have nothing to say to you." His voice was ragged and he swallowed, willing his heart to a slower pace. The visions were rising up before his eyes and he could see his sister with her arms upraised, welcoming the dark fire, at the same time as he could see her smile, innocently cruel, and take a step toward him.  
  
"Come on, Ron. It's your sister. Remember me? You wouldn't forget your sister." Her voice was low but full of a seductive power that left Ron floundering in his own mind. The face before him flickered and changed, now a child, bright hair ringed with daisies, now a naked stranger clothed in bloody symbols. "You'll always love me, won't you Ron?" She stepped closer and he watched again as his hands held the knife, as they pressed the black seeds into her bloody flesh. She held up a thin metal loop. It was reflected in her eyes. "You dropped this."  
  
Of a sudden she was wrenched away from him and the sound of a loud crack filled the hallway.   
  
The angry sound of Draco Malfoy's voice filled the ensuing silence. "You stay the fuck away from him."   
  
.  
  
.  
  
"Can you tell what she's saying?" Harry and Hermione crouched behind a turn in the corridor where they had told Ginny they would wait.  
  
"No," Hermione whispered back. "But it's as we feared. I'm feeling surges of very strong magic." They'd told Ginny to catch Ron on his way to dinner and ask him about the incident with Zabini. She'd agreed readily enough once they had explained their suspicions and though Harry couldn't tell what exactly was being said, especially with Ginny's back to him as it was, there was only one conclusion to be drawn if Hermione was, in fact, picking up such taints of magic: Malfoy was using magic to control Ron. The thought of it made Harry burn with anger.  
  
Just then, the object of his hatred appeared at the other end of the corridor and, to Harry's shock, strode swiftly toward the two siblings and back-handed Ginny hard across the face. She staggered back, something flying from her hand, which Malfoy promptly stepped on. The expression on Ron's face was heart-wrenchingly blank, and for a moment no one moved but for Ginny slowing putting a hand up to her burning cheek. Harry himself was frozen, and it wasn't until Malfoy spoke that he was able to regain control of his limbs.  
  
"You stay the fuck away from him."  
  
Anger surged through Harry's veins and he sprang to his feet, quickly rounding the corner before Hermione's cautionary hand on his shoulder could stop him. "She's his sister, Malfoy, and he's not your property." His words were a mixture incredulity and fury and they came out sounding rather choked. As soon as Ginny saw him she burst into tears and hurried off down the corridor. Ron turned white and started shaking.  
  
Malfoy appeared unmoved. "I fail to see what bearing your words have on the situation at hand. Leave now, Potter."  
  
Too angry to think straight, Harry sputtered for a moment and in that space of time Ron spoke up from the side. "Malfoy, I think..."  
  
"Shh." Draco turned swiftly toward Ron, raising a finger to his lips to block his next words. Ron flinched at the contact but then closed his eyes and nodded silently.  
  
Furious, Harry shoved Malfoy back a step towards the wall, causing the paler boy to hiss in annoyance. "Don't you silence him, Malfoy. What do you think he is? Some sort of slave? He.." Harry was stopped by Ron's hand on his arm. He turned to see Hermione standing uncertainly behind him.  
  
"Let's go to dinner, Harry." Ron's voice was steady but his eyes were sad and Harry's anger crumbled before the combination. Fighting wasn't going to work. They would have to think of something else, and if Ron was willing to let them near, then maybe they had a chance of beating Malfoy's hold over him. Looking to Hermione, he saw her give a brief dip of her head. After a slight hesitation and a cold look back over his shoulder at Draco, Harry nodded and turned to follow the two, although he was half worried this was just some further ploy of Malfoy's.  
  
Draco just stood, coldly silent, as the three moved off down the corridor, wrapping his mind tightly in bands of steel to keep himself from thinking about what had almost just happened. He could practically feel the bracelet burning a hole through his shoe. Harry was walking in between Hermione and Ron, keeping as close to Ron as he could without touching him. The gulf between them was greater even than he suspected though and, unknown to Harry, the words Draco had conveyed to Ron silently throbbed through the blood in Ron's lip and echoed heart-breakingly through his mind: "They'll never believe us now. She's made sure of that." 


	47. Portension

Updated: 8-27-04  
  
x x  
  
chapter 47: PORTENSION - an interlude  
  
x x  
  
Ginny Weasley sat in the stands, looking out over the Quidditch pitch, and listened to the wind blow. Such a calming sound. She closed her eyes and let it flow through her, let it wash away all of the distractions that had built up over the day until she was blank, a slate wiped clean, an empty mirror.  
  
It was then that she could begin to feel it building within her, singing through her blood, an emptiness, a vast nothing. She could feel it reaching through her and out towards the edges of the world. It waited there, curled upon itself, asleep and half-dreaming, but waiting for her.  
  
Opening her eyes, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a white daisy, a bit crushed and wilted. The wind whipped her hair and tangled it in front of her eyes as she gazed down at the flower intently. Raising it to her face, she pressed her lips to the soft petals. Pulling it away, she gently grasped a petal and plucked it neatly from the flower. "He loves me," she whispered softly to herself as she watched the long, white petal turn to ash and blow away. A cold smile curled her lips and she took hold of another. "He loves me not."  
  
x x x  
  
"How are you feeling, Ron?" Hermione's tone held only loving concern and Ron sighed as he set his pumpkin juice to the side.  
  
"How do you mean?" Even as he said it, Ron avoided looking up at Hermione, or Harry seated next to her. Instead he looked intently at his mashed potatoes, swirling them around with his fork.  
  
"Well, we're worried about you. You've been so pale, but you said you don't want any help with the...the blood loss. I just want to make sure you're doing alright." Hermione's tone suggested that even if he said he was, she'd never believe it. Ron chanced looking up enough to see that her hands were moving restlessly around her plate, shifting the knife to the other side, fiddling with her napkin. Ron sighed again.  
  
"I'm fine, Hermione. Really. It's not as bad as it sounds." A choked sound came from Harry, and Ron was sure that he was remembering what he had seen when he'd found Ron in the showers that morning. Recalling the fight they'd had, Ron hunched down further in his seat. How long could they keep up this pretense of civility before they started in on him again about Malfoy? He understood why they didn't believe him, but it didn't make it any easier. And Draco was right, nothing would convince them of the truth now.  
  
"Why did Malfoy hit you, Ron?" Harry's voice was level, but it sounded strained. Ron closed his eyes, wishing Harry could just drop it all for the night and pretend like nothing was wrong.  
  
"We just got in an argument, ok Harry? He hit me. I hit him. It was an argument. Now it's over."  
  
"Look me in the eye and tell me that." Harry's tone was hard, and out of the corner of his eye Ron could see that Hermione's hands had ceased moving around her plate. She had frozen, one finger on her fork as though unsure of what to do with it.  
  
Bracing himself, Ron looked up and into Harry's intense, green eyes. "We argued, we hit each other, it doesn't matter now." Ron resisted the urge to look away, but every second he stared into Harry's eyes made it harder and harder. He was catching flashes of it, of the blood and the way Zabini had been so still. Part of Ron was just glad Harry had seen only the result and not how it had been accomplished. He shouldn't have thought of it, though, for even as he did, a knife flashed in his peripheral vision and drew a long line of blood over pale flesh.  
  
"What was the argument about?"  
  
Ron blinked, trying to concentrate on what Harry was saying and how he might respond without riling him up again. "I said it doesn't matter, Harry." A pale boy, covered in cuts, was reflected back at him from Harry's glasses.  
  
Harry's voice lost somewhat of its coldness and took on a bit of a pleading tone. "If it doesn't matter, then why can't you tell us?"  
  
The pain in Harry's eyes, along with the violence Ron could see remembered there, was finally too much for him and he looked away, trying desperately not to let the visions of his own memories replace the horror Ron saw when he looked at his friends. "I just can't."  
  
x x x  
  
Ginny smiled remotely as the rest of the flower finally blackened and blew away. Closing her eyes, she tilted her face upwards as she felt a surge of the magic pulse through her. It was so sweet. Off in a corner of her mind she could feel that other one stirring, could feel him opening blind eyes into her soul and smiling at the emptiness he found there. She could feel his lust swelling inside her, humming through her veins and threading through the new strands of magic being spun out of the darkness.  
  
Standing, she descended the risers and started out towards the walls of the castle. A black coldness enveloped her and her skin shone like ice. Frost crunched in the grass beneath her feet. Stopping just beside the doors to the castle, she put a hand up to the gray stone, caressing it and the warmth she felt spilling outward.  
  
Turning away from the door, she walked along the edge of the castle, one hand trailing along the rough wall. Fine as old spider's silk, a snaking crack followed in her fingers' wake. She could feel him laughing between the broken edges of the stone. In the distance clouds began to gather.  
  
x x x  
  
Draco fixed the final ward on the box, sealing away the locks and the latch of the lid, but paused before putting it into his trunk. There was something building inside of him, a hunger, pressing in on him from all sides. No. Not now, why now?  
  
Shuddering, he hastily shoved the box into the trunk, piling old notes and odds and ends on top of it before slamming shut the trunk's lid and locking it. He hoped it would be safe in there, prayed that some magic it possessed wouldn't set it in Ron's path once more. The bracelet looked so simple, so harmless, but he didn't have to even think to know that it must never find its way to Ron's wrist again. If only he knew how to destroy it? Well, locking it away would have to do.  
  
Standing, he strode over to where his robes were laid out for dinner, but paused again, one hand on the bed, as another wave of hunger washed over him. He ached with the pain of it, and with the taste of the violence and the blood it hinted at. Clenching his hands into fists, he tried to get ahold of himself. It didn't make any sense. He'd tasted Ron's blood already that day, and the new moon had been only last week. Why, then, why.....  
  
It didn't matter, he needed to find Weasley. The voice in the back of his mind that sounded like his father sneered coldly at his weakness as he strode swiftly from the room..The day was growing darker as the sun sank towards the horizon and clouds piled up overhead. Ginny had almost circled the entire castle by the time the first snow flakes began to fall. They swirled around her as she continued her circuit, muffling the sound of the wind so that the world seemed to be suspended in a heavy silence. By the time she once again reached the castle doors the snow was falling so thickly it had piled up on her shoulders and hair and it was getting harder to see. Pausing again at the doors into the castle, Ginny smiled at the descending harsh weather before turning away from the wall and drifting off into the spinning cold. Coming to the shelter of an old tree she settled herself to wait.  
  
x x x  
  
A tinkling of spoon on glass and Ron looked up to see Dumbledore rising from his seat. Strange that he would be making an announcement now, rather than at the start of dinner. Dumbledore cleared his throat and the hall fell silent. "There is an announcement for the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff sixth years in Astronomy that I thought best made now rather than create confusion later. As an aside, please note that late night snow-ball fights are to be discouraged, however, indulgences will be understood and allowed, strange weather still persisting, tomorrow, in light that it will be the weekend. Professor."  
  
Surprised, Ron looked up at the ceiling to find that snow had indeed begun to fall. He couldn't believe his eyes, or the eye that was working rather, and had to blink several times before he had convinced himself that it was real. He noticed that Harry and Hermione had also abandoned the gloomy contemplation of their plates to look, startled, towards the ceiling.  
  
Turning back to the head table, Ron saw that their Astronomy professor had risen and was preparing so speak. "To those who were supposed to observe tonight: a bizarre bout of snow seems to have foiled plans for observing. Instead, I would like those students to please write up a comparison between star charts of the sixteenth century and the modern charts we use today to be handed in on Monday. You need only consider stars brighter than three magnitudes. That is all." With that the professor sat down, to the cheers and the groans of the students in the class and the rising conversation of the rest of the hall. Observing on a Friday night was one thing, being given a paper to do over the weekend was entirely another. However, Ron couldn't really say that he cared. It was so far beyond the realm of what he was worrying about at that point that he really didn't feel anything. Judging by the lack of comment from Harry and Hermione, they felt the same.  
  
Ron was just about to make a comment about how weird it was to get snow so early in the year when the feeling of something else made him turn again, this time toward to doors leading into the Great Hall. As soon as he saw him, he knew he needed to go. Draco Malfoy stood just inside the doors, surveying the room apparently casually and with that permanent Malfoy smirk fixed on his face, but Ron could sense an undercurrent of urgency running from the pale boy and knew that he wasn't nearly as relaxed as he appeared. Almost, a small voice in the back of his mind chastised him for not noticing that he was needed earlier.  
  
"Ron, where are you going?" Hermione's voice sounded tense and anxious, but he didn't spare a glance back as he hurried from the table. Seeing that he was coming, Draco slipped back out through the doors.  
  
A few minutes later Ron caught up with him walking briskly down a hallway that seemed naggingly familiar. The walls whispered to him of something half-remembered in a dream, and the air pressed about him and stilled his breath. Dark magic crackled between the two boys, binding them and pressing them apart.  
Back at the table in the Great Hall Hermione was sitting hunched over, twisting her hands in her lap, while Harry stared murderously at his mashed potatoes. Finally he turned and glared at Hermione. "Well?"  
  
Hermione squeaked at this sudden attack. "Well, what?" Harry lifted his eyebrows significantly. "Oh. No. I don't know. The spell's gone blank. I don't feel a thing, not even the sort of staticciness I felt before."  
  
"So that's it?" Harry asked incredulously. "The spell just doesn't work anymore? Did you cast it right?"  
  
"Yes, I cast it right," Hermione hissed, then lowered her voice to be out of hearing of the rest of the table. "It just went blank. I don't know if that means someone disrupted the spell, or if Ron is just suddenly fully in possession of his own mind..." Harry snorted pessimistically at this second suggestion but Hermione continued mercilessly. "I told you this spell was limited anyway, but even so, I don't think it's as straight-forward as you think. After...what happened in the hall, I didn't feel much strong magic, not even when I asked Ron how he was doing. Not even," she continued over the top of Harry trying to interject something, "not even when you asked him about his fight with Malfoy. At least, not until you asked him to look at you. After that I could feel a very strong build-up of magic and it didn't start to go away until after he looked down again."  
  
"Well, what's that supposed to mean." Harry sounded, if anything, insulted by the seeming randomness of what Hermione reported and Hermione scowled at him.  
  
"How should I know?" she asked, still whispering fiercely. "If there is some sort of spell on Ron..."  
  
"There is, and you know it."  
  
Hermione sighed, "The spell that seems to be on Ron, it's not at all simple, and right now we can't say for sure what it is in place to do, or why."  
  
x x x  
  
From beneath the shelter of the tree Ginny watched as the world swirled by in a white madness that was steadily growing darker. The castle was only a vague shape off to the right. The moaning of the wind through the branches was the only sound, masking even the sound of her breathing, and the beating of her heart. Out of the swirling void another shape manifested, hurrying quickly to where Ginny waited under the tree.  
  
"You came." Dean's voice rang happily out of the stillness as he stepped under the shelter of the branches and shook off the snow that had collected on his shoulders and hat. "I was afraid this crazy weather would keep you inside." He smiled down at her, his face glowing with innocent joy.  
  
Ginny stepped forward and took one of his hands hesitantly, shyly. "Of course I came, Dean." She looked up at him, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Does this mean you don't have an astronomy class tonight?"  
  
"What do you think?" Dean grinned wider. "Isn't it wonderful? I can't believe it's snowing." He gazed excitedly out at the falling snow.  
  
Ginny stepped closer to him and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. "It's crazy, is what it is. How about we go somewhere that's a bit warmer? I know a good place."  
  
Dean looked back down at her and his smile softened. "Alright, if you want." Setting a leisurely pace they started back toward the castle arm-in-arm. "Did you get the flower?" 


	48. Unification

Updated: 10-1-04   
  
Author's Note: sorry. (hope you like this chapter)  
  
chapter 48: UNIFICATION - wrapped together in the darkness   
  
Ron had followed Draco for several paces down the corridor, but it wasn't until they turned into an old, deserted classroom that he recognized where they were. They had been here before, the night of the new moon.  
  
After Ron stepped through the door, Draco turned and shut it carefully, locking it. His movements were precise, controlled to the point of losing control. When he turned back, Ron was surprised to see that the look on his face was not one of pride or assurance, or even of intense focus, but rather one of extreme vunerability. His mouth opened and shut several times before he finally managed to say something, and when he did it was uncertain, not at all Malfoy. "I'm sorry, I just...I don't know why...I need..." He gulped a ragged breath but couldn't seem to come up with anything more to say. His eyes, flashing now ice blue, now empty black, spoke for him. The demon was wakeful this night.  
  
Ron didn't say anything. From the moment he'd stepped into the room, from the moment he'd felt the demon's hunger pulsing through the air, everything had gone clear. All the horror and doubt that had been clouding his mind all day simply fell away. At that moment he simply was, and he was needed. In the darkened room he stepped foward, offering himself.  
  
That gesture was all Malfoy needed. Swiftly he moved forward, without another word wrapping his arms around Ron and driving them both into the wall at Ron's back. His teeth sought the flesh at the base of Ron's neck hungrily and he bit down hard. Ron gasped at the bright pain and at the intensity of the need that he could feel radiating from Malfoy, the need that he could feel quickly wrapping itself around him as well. The need for blood, for violence, the need and the endless hunger. Such hunger. Ron could feel it as though he were Malfoy himself, as though the the salty blood was flowing past his own lips, hot and thick and never enough. The wall scraped roughly at Ron's back and part of a nearby desk dug into his hip, but it was only the need that mattered, the need that consumed them both. Sudden and harsh it nearly overwhelmed him.  
  
Malfoy was trying to hold back, trying to reign in the hunger and keep a hold on sense and sanity, but Ron could feel him slipping, could feel the drive for more getting stronger, and with every moment that passed, more blood drained from Ron's veins. This wasn't the normal hunger, wasn't something that could be contained with forms and ritual offerings. It was darker, and more powerful. Ron's own mouth ached to quench this, whatever this was, and he could feel Draco drowning in himself.  
  
Wrenching Malfoy away from him, he cried out as teeth were torn away from flesh. Malfoy snarled, hunger and passion filling his eyes, and quickly Ron leaned forward and captured Draco's lips with his own. He drank the other boy in, not so much kissing him as taking him over, gathering the violence and intensity into himself. Draco kissed him back just as hungrily. The barriers had fallen and now the only thing separating the two boys was this wanting, this needful hunger that knew no satiation.  
  
Hermione stood in the darkened infirmiry looking down at the vague shape on the bed. Even with the lights up it would have been just a vague shape, a fuzzy suggestion of a boy, masked by heaped blankets and long lengths of gauze. He seemed dead. Only after watching very carefully was Hermione able to detect the slight rise and fall that meant that he still breathed. Even still she couldn't be sure. Here in the dark it was all too much like a dream, the memory of when she found him overlaying her thoughts and screaming at her that there was no way he was still alive.  
  
"Come on. We can't do anything for him right now." Hermione started as Harry's hand landed on her shoulder, even though his touch was light and he spoke softly. Turning to look at him in the indirect light from the doorway, she felt lost, and it was only then she realized that she was crying. How long had that been going on? It couldn't have been long, they had only been there a minute or two.  
  
She nodded her head and Harry squeezed her shoulder before letting her go and heading for the door. She followed after him quietly. No words seemed like they could really mean anything in light of what had been done. Outside in the hall where it was lighter, heading back toward Gryffindor Tower, speech finally seemed permissible. "I always hated him...distantly. He's a Slytherin, and an annoying git, but now..."  
  
"I know." Harry's words were heavy and Hermione glanced over to see him staring resolutely ahead. "He's a person too."  
  
Hermione nodded, considering to herself how previously she couldn't have cared one way or another what happened to Blaise Zabini. In fact she probably would have liked to have seen him in a bit of pain. But after such a horrible thing happening, after finding him and fighting to make sure that he lived... How much worse would she be feeling if it had been someone she was close to? It was then that Hermione was able to make out the great anger that she kept seeing spilling out of Harry. He was afraid that next time it WAS going to be someone he was close to, someone who was his friend. Thinking of Ron and the seemingly impossible situation that had developed, Hermione bit back fresh tears.  
  
She tripped going through the portrait hole into the common room and Harry had to catch her. She was glad they were together in this. Looking up into his face, seeing his resolution and will to pervail that was so much a part of his character, Hermione was reminded of her own part. No use sitting around feeling sad and scared. They would figure this out, just as they had everything else. "I'm going to the library." Harry made no protest as she hurried away.  
  
They were on the floor. They were on the floor and their robes had been torn aside, along with most of the rest of their clothing. Ron didn't know how this had come to be, nor did he particularly care. Hunger and violence were still surging through him, and all he knew was the need to consume. Consume the hatred and the anger, consume the pain. Consume Draco, just as the other boy would consume him.  
  
His swollen lip throbbed with each assault by Malfoy and, though he couldn't be sure, the taste of blood suggested that it had split open again. Every grasp and turn, every struggle sent sparks and jagged edges of pain shooting through his body from the miriad of bruises he had accumulated in their fight earlier that day. He didn't avoid the pain, but welcomed it. The memory of his hand, and the knife drove him on. He wanted... He needed.... It would never be enough. Thrashing and twisting and scrambling madly against each other, he heard Malfoy hiss in pain just before their lips were brought bruisingly together once more and another piece of clothing was wrenched desperately aside.  
  
Emotion that he hadn't realized he was restraining poured forth from him now. The memory of that horrible night with his sister, the knowledge that she had done it to someone else, stoked the fires of his anger, his rage, his fear and self-loathing. Tearing away a last scrap of clothing and pulling Draco even closer to him, Ron relished the pain that shot outward from a bruise on his hip, savored the feeling of smooth skin pressing against his own. Sharp teeth bit into his lip, into his shoulder, and the memory of arcane symbols and dark fire danced before his eyes. He smothered it with Draco's lips, Draco's tongue. As close as they were, Ron felt the hot need washing through them both as though they were one, pulling them in a tide of lust and hunger and fierce possession.  
  
At some point Ron found himself on hands and bruised knees, unable to turn and grasp at Malfoy who had his arms wrapped tightly around Ron. Malfoy pressed in against him and Ron felt a tearing, felt such intense pain stabbing through him and washing over him that he cried out. It was almost enough to lose himself in. He felt his emotion, lust and pain and violence and love, twisting around Draco's so that he could no longer distinguish one from the other. The pain washed through him again, and again, and again, and again, until it was no longer pain, but something else, something that would be enough. He didn't even register the hardness of the floor, or the way the wood drove splinters into his hands.  
  
Harry was sitting on the couch in the common room when it happened, trying to think of a way to help Hermione find something that would be the answer, but he wouldn't remember that later. He would remember how her face had been white with terror, how blood had ended up on his hands as she pulled him franticlly towards the door, and how that horrible calm had decended upon him once more when he realized what she was saying.  
  
Ginny had almost pulled him halfway down the tower steps before he realized that they needed to turn back and bring McGonagal with them, and by the time the three of them made if over to the first floors of the North tower, Ginny had calmed somewhat, but had also ceased speaking leading them on in grim silence. She refused to go back into the room, refused to even watch as they entered. Harry couldn't blame her and, though he knew it wouldn't do any good, part of him wished to flee into a nice corner and be sick.  
  
McGonagal had merely given a shocked gasp before turning to swift efficiency and business. In short order she had checked Dean's pulse, found it weak but steady, and wrapped him gently in a thin blanket before levitating him expertly up from where he had been left sprawled, naked just as Zabini had been, on the floor. In fact, aside from being left to the more normal influences of gravity, Dean looked to match Zabini almost exactly, wound for awful wound.  
  
McGonagal lead the way to the infirmiry, with Harry following close behind keeping a sharp eye, though for what he couldn't have said. He wasn't sure what to do when Ginny pressed up close to where Dean was floating and tightly grasped the boy's hand. He couldn't imagine that it was doing any damage that hadn't already been done, so he left her be, but wondered that she seemed oblivious to the blood that was soaking through her robes and had already matted somewhat in her hair. In fact she seemed oblivious to everything but Dean, squeezing his hand, and stroking it lovingly, even as her own trembled, white and pale against the blood.  
  
Ron felt the tears on his face long after they had dried, leaving behind tracks of salt and tight skin. Like a throat set to screaming for hours, his whole self felt raw and used up. In an odd way, he felt clean.  
  
They lay where they had fallen, on the hard, dusty floor of the abandoned classroom, limbs tangled about one another. They could have spoken, but there was no need. For minutes that seemed like hours their minds had been just as locked together as were their bodies, and after that there was nothing more to say.  
  
Close to his ear Draco's breath sounded soft and even. It was the only sound in the stillness of the room. Ron thought Malfoy was awake, but couldn't be sure. Either way, he couldn't imagine moving. He felt like something inexplicable would break if he tried, and though the floor was hard and the room cool, he felt he never wanted to move again. Time lost its meaning in the stillness, and eventually he slipped into sleep. 


	49. Affliction

Author's Note: Well, I'm extremely sorry it has taken me this long to update. I can't claim much excuse except for having been busy, but that's not always the best of excuses. I have hopes of not taking so long for the next bit. In the meantime, I hope that those still interested enjoy this chapter..  
chapter 49: AFFLICTION - boundaries already crossed ..  
"Thank you."

Ron opened his eyes. The room was dark and all he could see were vague shadows. He shifted a little, experimentally, only to find that absolutely everything hurt. "For what?" he finally rasped out. His throat was dry and the cut in his lip throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

"For stopping me. I was afraid you wouldn't, that you'd just let me kill you." Draco shifted a little then, too, and Ron felt him wince as one arm slid to wrap around Ron's waist. Left unspoken was the memory of how Ron's uncle had died, surrendering to violence and death without protest.

Ron closed his eyes and breathed in deeply before replying. "Me too."

They lay together in the silence that followed, each lost in their own thoughts. The darkness was draped thick and heavy over the room, and the air was still. It was as though the world had stopped.

"It will never stop, will it?"

"No." Choosing to ignore the pain that flared anew, yet aware of the sensation of bare skin sliding over bare skin, Ron turn in Draco's arms so that he was facing the other boy in the dark. "What happened?"

"I don't know." The puff of Draco's breath was warm on Ron's face and he closed his eyes. He felt so tired.

"Do you think she had anything to do with it?"

"I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised, but I don't know how......" Draco seemed to move hesitantly, and then a soft kiss was placed on Ron's lips. "Thank you for not leaving me."

"I couldn't leave you." 

"Because of your duty."

"You know it's more than that."

The chill was seeping into Ron's bones, and he couldn't stop the shudder that passed through him then. Draco sat up, taking the remaining warmth with him and spreading the cold over the whole of Ron's body. "I know." It was said very quietly, but in the stillness of the room Ron could not mistake it. "I think I know why she didn't want you to forget".Ron shuffled slowly up the stairs to Gryffindor tower as he thought about what Malfoy had told him about old magic, about blood rites and spells imprinted and strengthened with repetition. According to the book Draco had found, a lot of the old spells were created in layers and found their power not only in the power of the caster but also in the number of repetitions they were put through, like adding another strand to a rope to make it stronger. That was one reason why Draco had to taste Ron's blood every day, not just when the demon was strongest and trying to break free; each day's sacrifice was a reflection of the original sacrifice that created the spell and bound the demon to the Malfoy line. It was also part of why the demon remained bound before the next Malfoy in line had to take up the burden of it. All of the years and centuries of blood tithe kept the demon imprisoned until the next Malfoy took up the responsibility. When that time came was often dependent upon the demon's strength and its struggles to be free of its bonds.

While that was interesting enough in its own right, it really didn't have much bearing on what was going on with Ginny. However, both the bonds that held the demon and the spells that Ginny was working were old magic, and with the way that old magic depended on repetition to keep it strong, certain things were beginning to come clear. Usually the spell's repetition didn't have to be an exact replica of the original spell or enchantment, but just had to represent it somehow. That was why Ginny didn't want him to forget it. His memory of her spell was symbolically re-enacting it, and every time he found himself remembering portions of that bloody night, or seemed to see it playing out before him as it had with his visions that day, the spell was reinforced, made stronger and more permanent. Of course, Ginny could be doing the same thing and remembering it herself, but with more than one person involved, it was that much more effective. And this was all blood magic. Malfoy had mentioned blood magic as well, how it could be used to tie a person to the magic, how it could draw on the strength of another by that connection of blood. Blood was something fundamental, and the use of it held a power all its own.

Running over all of this again in his mind, Ron slowed on his way up the tower and came to a stop about five steps from the top. He felt such overwhelming sadness pouring over him, and he leaned his head against the cold tower wall, wishing that he could just let the stone swallow him up and take him away from having to deal with such...darkness. He thought about the visions he'd been having, everything dark and horrible playing itself out in front of his eyes, adding another layer to the blackness that his sister was wrapping around herself. He felt so alone at that moment, knowing what his sister had done and how she had betrayed him into aiding her, knowing that his friends would think him crazy if he accused her of such a thing, how they would insist it was Malfoy manipulating him and deceiving him when he knew the truth was much, much worse. Ginny had always been the personification of goodness in his family, always the one that everyone loved unreservedly and wanted to care for, the one who was supposed to love them all in return. What had happened to her? Had she even existed in the first place, or was the Ginny they knew some wonderful, terrible lie?

Turning away from the wall, Ron made his way up the last steps and started down the hall toward the portrait of the Fat Lady, doing his best to ignore the aches that seemed to encompass the whole of his body. Sleep would be welcome, not the least for the oblivion it would bring, but he couldn't say whether he'd be able to get out of bed in the morning.

"Where have you been, Ron?"

Stepping through the portrait hole, Ron was confronted once again with the sound of Hermione's voice, as well as with a very strong sense of dejavu. This time when he turned toward the couch in front of the fire, he found that Harry was awake as well, rather than passed out from Hermione's charm and snoring.

"Merlin, Hermione. What time is it?" He didn't have the energy to give a start of surprise at their presence, but he did his best to look mundane and tired. Tired, at least, was certainly not a problem.

"Four in the morning. Now, come sit down, Ron." Hermione's voice remained stern and her face impassive. Harry's face was also expressionless, but with a hard edge to it, and he watched Ron with a close intensity that Ron found more than a bit unsettling. Knowing that he wasn't going to get any sleep until he listened to them, Ron turned and made his way slowly to the chair opposite the couch.

Ron winced as he lowered himself into the chair, the pain that flashed over him reminding him of that evening, of sharp teeth and raw emotion, of hot breath and hungry need. He put a knuckle to his forehead, forcing the memory from him. Now was not the time to remember such things. Lowering his hand, he looked up and directly into the faces of his friends. "What is it this time?"

At his question, Harry gave a small, disbelieving snort and looked down at the floor. Hermione glanced at Harry for a moment, before turning back to Ron. Her hands twisted in her lap and her mouth worked uncertainly for a second before she finally said, "I've found something in the library you need to know, but first...I think..."

"It was Dean this time, Ron," Harry cut in abruptly, looking back up at Ron with anger showing clearly in his eyes. "Ginny found him."

Ron felt cold wash over him at the words. "What do you mean?" His voice came out in barely a whisper, and even as he said it he was rearranging Harry's words in his head. Ginny hurt Dean this time.

"You bloody well know what I mean." Harry slammed his fist against the arm of the couch and spoke harshly from between clenched teeth. "He was barely alive when we got to him. The room was practically painted in his blood and YOUR SISTER had to see it. She hasn't spoken a word since we got him out of there. She wouldn't leave the infirmary, not until we were sure he would live. We still don't know when, or if, he'll wake."

As Harry's words went on, describing the horror of it in minute detail, Ron found himself ignoring the pain in his body and simply curling in on himself. His knees drew up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them as he squeezed his eyes shut tight, trying to block out the memories and the images that Harry was drawing in his mind of what had befallen Dean. He wanted to scream at his friend to stop, to tell him that reliving the scene was only adding power to it, but he found he couldn't speak, not while Harry's words hammered down on him, each one reminding him of his own guilt, of his own powerlessness in the situation.

Finally Harry stopped, pausing for a moment and looking at Ron critically. "It does no good to hide from it, Ron. Sooner or later you're going to have to face what's going on. Hermione, tell him."

There was a pause before Hermione spoke in which Ron moved not a muscle, wishing that everything that had happened that year was just some horrible nightmare and he could wake up soon. "Ron?" Hermione's hand landed on his shoulder, catching a bruise, and Ron flinched and unfolded quickly from his fetal position, lifting his head and looking Hermione square in the eye, his face stony. Wishing wouldn't erase what had happened. He said nothing though, and after a moment of hesitation, Hermione withdrew her hand from his shoulder and began.

"There's something about your curse that your father didn't tell you. Maybe he didn't know about it, it's old, a prophesy from the time the spell was cast and the demon bound. It's a prophesy about how the demon can break free, more than just taking over Malfoy, but really break free." Ron just stared impassively back at her. Why did they have to keep doing this? Why couldn't they see that, remarkable as it was, the situation with him and Draco wasn't the problem, that it was just an aside to what was really going on? He wouldn't be able to convince them, though, so he just let Hermione talk. His eyes wandered over to stare into the dancing flames in the hearth.

"Ron! Are you listening to me?" Hermione hissed and Ron let his eyes drift back to her face. Her eyes were fierce and the set of her mouth determined. "I want you to listen very carefully, Ron. The prophesy gives signs for when the demon can be released. It says this: 'When the blood of the youngest is spilled with the seeds of malice, the spirit imprisoned shall be freed by the one who has no heart. You will know his coming by the darkness that shows itself in day, and by the cursed bodies of the ignorant scarred whose blood is taken to feed him. The breaking of the pair will unleash his power, rewarding the one who makes the choice for betrayal.' " Hermione pronounced the last line and stared at Ron intently.

Before she could say any more, Harry, his face white and twisted with anger, broke in. "Don't you see, Ron? He's going to free the demon to gain power for himself. He's already begun, cutting and bleeding first Blaise Zabini and now Dean, who are ignorant, knowing nothing of your curse or the demon, in order to feed the demon inside of him." Fear and determination flashed in Harry's eyes. "We've got to stop him. Who knows who's next or how many until he's finished. 'Blood of the youngest spilled with the seeds of malice.' Your blood, Ron. He's a heartless monster and soon he will betray you, and all of us, to set the demon free." Silence settled over the room, then, the sound the of the fire crackling loud in the stillness.

"I am already betrayed." The words were barely a whisper, but Ron was hardly aware of saying them. He was frozen in shock as the implications of the prophesy that Hermione had uncovered unfolded in his mind and tears spilled unnoticed down his cheeks as he finally understood the truth. In a way, they were right. It was all linked back to the demon and to the curse that he and Draco were living with. But Harry and Hermione had missed the most important part. The youngest wasn't himself. It was Ginny, and it was she who was trying to free the demon. The first line of the prophesy was unmistakable and Ron suppressed a shudder as he remembered his part in it, only now realizing the full horror of what he had helped to set in motion. "We were so blind."

" 'WE were blind'?" The look on Harry's face turned from dark anger to incredulity. "I'm glad you finally understand what's going on, Ron, but I could have told you all along that Malfoy was evil. I wanted, we wanted," Harry grabbed Hermione's hand as he said this, "to get you to see, but you kept insisting he was innocent. I don't understand, why didn't you see it? How did he deceive you?"

Harry's voice was full of a pleading to understand, of wanting only to do good and help his friend who had been wronged. It sickened Ron. Despite it all, Harry still thought that he knew everything, thought of himself as the hero forced to come and save the poor, helpless ones who were set upon by an evil that somehow only Harry could vanquish. Ron felt a horrible anger building within him, anger at Harry and Hermione for their patronizing, know-it-all ways, at Ginny for using him without a single drop of remorse, at the world for allowing any of this to happen. It was too much, and his anger spilled over. Ron looked up from where his hands were knotting themselves in his lap, allowing the anger to spit from his eyes, willing it to burn as he stared at Harry.

"YOU are still blind," he said in a deadly whisper. "You haven't the faintest idea of what is going on. You think you're the one who's supposed to save the day so you go running around before you even know what the problem is, all the time blinded by what it is that YOU perceive to be evil. You say that I have been deceived, and, in a way, I have, but not so much as you."

For a moment Harry only stared at him in shock. Almost he looked as though someone had just informed him that the world was flat after all, or that his parents were really alive and living in the Bahamas. His expression of dismayed confusion, however, quickly turned to a dark frown. "Ron, what are you saying? You're not still defending him, are you? You can't be. Not after what Hermione's found. It's clear..."

"I am saying NOTHING." Ron put a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was all getting to be too much. Even as he argued with his friends, part of his mind was searching frantically for a way to make it stop, to make Ginny stop. He didn't even know where to begin and the more he thought about it, the more all he could feel was simply very, very helpless. A wave of exhaustion passed over him, draining him of his anger, and he leaned back in his chair, one hand over his eyes. "I'm saying nothing." Sorrow descended upon him and he brought his other hand up to his face, stifling a sob. "I just don't know what to do."

The couch creaked as Hermione got up and Ron heard a step as she crossed over to where he was sitting. Her hand landed lightly on his shoulder and Ron lowered his hands to look over at her, feeling weary. "It'll be alright, Ron. You'll see. We'll figure out what to do." She squeezed his shoulder then, and Ron couldn't keep himself from crying out and flinching away as her thumb dug into the bruise there. "What's wrong? Are you ok?" Hermione's voice suddenly turned sharply solicitous.

"It's just a bruise, Hermione, leave it be." If only they would do just that. Right now, Ron just wanted to go to bed, to escape it all, if only for a little bit. Unfortunately, Harry chose that moment to join back in with his concern.

"That's more than just a bruise, Ron. What happened?" Under the concern in Harry's voice, Ron could hear a tone of suspicion.

"You know what happened, Harry. I got in a fight with Malfoy today, yesterday, whatever. Hermione even saw it. That's all. End of story." He made to get up. This was enough for one night. He was going to bed. However, Harry stood at that moment and pushed Ron back into the chair.

"No, that is not all, Ron." Harry's green eyes looked fiercely into his. "You still haven't told us what that fight was about. What are you hiding now?"

"Nothing Harry. It's none of your concern." Ron couldn't believe this. They really didn't trust him at all. Why couldn't they just let some things be?

"It's not Nothing, Ron." Harry hissed. "You look fine, but you're obviously hurt. What's going on?" Before Ron could protest, Harry had whipped out his wand and pointed it squarely at Ron. "Finite Incantatem."

For a moment there was nothing but a shocked silence as Harry and Hermione saw him without the glamour. Ron could only imagine what he looked like. He could still barely see out of one eye, and was sure that if he smiled his lip would doubtless split again. Of course, there was also the matter of the ragged bite Draco had placed at the base of his neck just that night. He wasn't sure if that showed over his collar or not, though.

"Put it back," he hissed.

This seemed to break spell on Harry, for he lowered his wand and closed his mouth, his eyebrows drawing together in a scowl. "What has he done to you?"

"It's none of your business what he's done to me, Harry." This time Ron did stand, shrugging Hermione's hand off his shoulder and shoving Harry out of the way. He stood a moment, glowering at Harry. "Now put it back."

Harry stared back at him, his nostrils flared and his lips pressed into a thin line. "Why should I? Why should I help you keep hiding from the truth."

"It's not like it's myself I'm hiding it from, is it," Ron yelled. "I still feel it, don't I? Now PUT. IT. BACK."

"NO!"

For several moments both boys stood glaring at each other, fists clenched at their sides. Finally, Hermione's voice broke the silence. "What aren't you telling us, Ron? What else do you know?"

Ron faltered. He remembered again why they were doing this, fighting when they were supposed to be friends. Everything had become so tangled in a web of pain and deception and things left unsaid that he didn't know if they'd ever find their way free.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Saying the words, Ron fled the room up to the dormitory. He missed seeing Harry snarl and kick the couch in frustration, missed Hermione as she calmed Harry and collected up her things, her forehead lined with deep thought and consideration and her lip pinched between her teeth. All he knew as he flung himself into bed was that somehow soon he was going to have to warn Draco. And then they would find a way to stop Ginny, they would. There would be no breaking of this pair, though his sister's betrayal already cut deep. 


	50. Alienation

chapter 50: ALIENATION - burdens in the heart

It was very cold in the dormitories the next morning, so cold that when Hermione, shivering, opened her eyes she realized that it was the cold that had waked her. She also realized something else, or rather, remembered it. They weren't safe. Thinking of this, she turned over in her bed to face the window and curled her knees up to her chest. Outside the sun was up and shining and the sky was a strong, unmarred blue. There was no hint of the strange weather that had set upon them the night before, unless you counted the cold. It invaded the cosy warmth of her bed, seeped into her skin and took hold of her bones, giving her no other choice but to get up. The fire in the common room sounded appealing.

Just as Hermione was sliding her feet into her slippers, she heard a soft sound over the snores and gentle breathing of her dorm mates. It seemed to come from overhead and when she looked up she saw that a fine crack had opened in the plaster ceiling over her bed. As she watched, the sound came again, a subtle hissing, breaking sort of sound, and the crack spread further, snaking its way till it spread over the width of her bed.

Seeing this, Hermione felt something inside go cold and a dark, insidious fear settled in the pit of her stomach. Though her logical self rebelled against it, a part of her sensed that she was seeing the expression of something sinister. Not bothering with her robe, she hurried from the room, telling herself she was just being silly while at the same time unable to resist the impulse to get away from it.

In the common room a few students were up and curled into chairs near the fire, but it was Saturday and breakfast ran late so most were still in bed. Hermione considered her options. She could either follow the other students' examples and curl up on the couch for a while, or she could head down for a solitary breakfast. Discarding both possibilities and acting on impulse, she instead turned and headed up the stairs to the sixth year boys' dormitory.

She hesitated outside the door, unsure of what to do or if knocking would be appropriate. Finally she shrugged and pushed the door open. If she was going to barge in on the boys while they were sleeping, she might as well not bother with niceties. Inside, all were sleeping. The soft sound of breathing and Neville's snores filled the air. Crossing the room, Hermione noted with some measure of gratitude that the curtains around Seamus's bed had been pulled shut. She wasn't sure if she believed the rumors, but wasn't eager to test them either. She also noted that one bed was conspicuously empty, but did her best not to dwell on that. Dean might end up fine soon. At that point they just didn't know.

Reaching Ron's bed, Hermione turned and sat carefully on the edge, doing her best not to wake him. She studied his sleeping face carefully, love for her friend and sadness warring inside of her. He looked peaceful in his sleep, though the impression jarred with the dark purple bruise that spread itself over one eye and the swollen split in his lip.

Hermione felt helpless. Even with what they had learned, what could they do about it? The professors were sure to already be taking precautions. She and Harry could go to the Headmaster with what they knew and strongly suspected about Malfoy, but she had a feeling that Ron would contradict them if they did, and who would Dumbledore believe in that case?

Hermione sighed and smoothed her hand along the blanket at Ron's feet. She just wanted Ron to be safe. She wanted them all to be safe, but Ron anyway was in the clearest danger. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Last year Harry had finally managed to do away with Voldemort and that was supposed to be the end of it, no more fear and dark curses, no more wondering if your friends were going to make it out alive. Hermione felt a tear slide down her cheek and lifted her hand to brush it away. This was doing no one any good. They would find a way to beat it, they always did. The most important thing was not giving up.

She rose from the bed and was about to start for the door when a noise behind her made her turn back. Ron's eyes were still closed, but his face was contorted into a frown and he had thrown his head to the side. As she watched, he cried out softly and bit his lip and Hermione winced to see his teeth go into the already mangled flesh. He was clearly distressed, and Hermione was just approaching him, hand raised, to try to wake him from the dream, when suddenly he gasped and opened his eyes to stare straight up into her face.

Hermione stood frozen for an eternal moment. Her initial start of surprise at Ron's wakening was replaced with shock at what she saw in his eyes. Later she couldn't define it properly, not even to herself, but as she looked into Ron's eyes she saw something completely alien. Usually bright and clear, his eyes had darkened so that they were almost black and looking into them Hermione saw not a shred of recognition. Instead they were filled with a swirl of different emotions, violent anger mixed with a strange combination of terror and lust.

Shaken, Hermione took a step back from this stranger that used to be Ron, feeling fear coil tightly in the pit of her stomach. The look lasted only a second though, and then Ron shuddered, closing his eyes, and when he opened them again they seemed to have cleared and the lines of his face to have smoothed.

"Hermione?" Ron shook his head as though to clear it. "Hermione, what are you doing in here?" His voice was hoarse with sleep and he looked up at her in puzzlement, all traces of whatever had haunted his sleep gone.

br Ron felt like a war was being waged in his dreams. He knew that he was sleeping, but at the same time was powerless to halt the onslaught of imagery and sensation pouring through his mind. In his dreams, he was kneeling once more with a knife in his hand, but this time it wasn't his sister laid out before him, this time it wasn't her flesh under the knife tip; it was the others, his two classmates who had been found, whose wounds he hadn't even seen except in the reflected memories in his friends' eyes. The dreaming images shifted between the two, playing out as though he were the one who had done it, as though he were the one who had reveled in the spilling of their blood.

He fought it, resisting giving in to the sensations, to the feeling of familiarity and connection he felt for the images in the dream. Sometimes he was able to break it, to let his horror and disgust for what happened overwhelm the draw of the vision and cast it aside for a few moments, to be himself for a few moments. When he did the image shifted to darkness rather than moonlight, and the sensation became that of bare skin against his own, of rough teeth and a hot mouth bruising his already swollen lips. In those moments he was able to relive his emotions, to remember again his terror and his passion, to feel alive. But then the coldness would come creeping back, and he'd feel himself becoming detached, forgetting his anger and losing his hold, and then the nightmare would begin again, slowly pressing blade to flesh, and feeling satisfaction as blood welled forth.

He didn't know what woke him, certainly he was unable to wake himself, but of a sudden the visions, both cold and hot, were wrenched away from him and he found himself staring up into a pair of startled brown eyes. The transition was so abrupt that for a moment he couldn't make sense of it. The face before him seemed to be a strange intruder into his visions, out of place and threatening. Then the understanding of wakefulness came over him and he shuddered, trying to cast off the remnant sensations of his dreams. He couldn't discard them completely. He still felt them, lingering as though on the edges of his skin, but when he opened his eyes again he was able to recognize Hermione backing away from him.

"Hermione?" Was he actually awake, or was this some other strange dream? Not that such a dream wouldn't be a welcome change from the visions of before. He shook his head and looked again. "Hermione, what are you doing in here?" She looked almost afraid, but he was still too groggy to process what could possibly be going on.

"I..." Hermione opened and closed her mouth, looking lost. Suddenly her face broke into a worried frown and she rushed forward, kneeling by the side of the bed and putting a hand to his shoulder. "I was...Ron, are you ok? What ha... Are you ok?"

She looked like she was about to burst into tears and Ron reached out an arm to pull her into a hug. "I was just dreaming, Hermione," he soothed. "I'm fine. Are you alright? Did something happen?"

Hermione began to shake and her words came out sounding choked, as well as muffled by his shoulder. "I was worried...But you looked so...I was afraid. I thought..."

Ron patted her shoulder, trying to be comforting, but he was really just very confused. "What did you think, Hermione?"

At this question Hermione drew away. Her head was down as though she was studying her hands, and the fall of her hair hid her face. "I thought..." Hermione startled and stopped speaking as a loud knocking came at the door to the dormitory. Mutters and groans could be heard around the room as the other boys were interrupted from their sleep.

Before Hermione could say anything more, Professor McGonegal, Head of Gryffindor House, strode into the room. She paused upon seeing Hermione kneeling beside Ron's bed but then did little more than raise an eyebrow before turning to Ron. "Mr. Weasley, I'm glad to see you are awake," she said coolly. "I have something I must speak with you about. Please come down to the common room as soon as you've gotten dressed." With that she simply turned and strode from the room, leaving a gaping Ron and Hermione in her wake.

Ron looked at Hermione with confusion, before climbing out of his bed and simply throwing a school robe over what he'd been sleeping in. From what Hermmione saw, he hadn't bothered to change out of his clothes before falling into bed the night before and she wrinkled her nose at the thought of how dirty those clothes must be by now. It was only a minute before the two were out the door and heading toward the common room after McGonogal, a bleary look from Neville the only notice that was given to their departure.

McGonogal, standing by the fire and watched warily by a few nervous-looking, early-rising second years across the room, raised an eyebrow at the prompt appearance of Ron and Hermione. Her cool expression took in the rumpled state of Ron's robes and her lips pinched together as she noticed the blackness around his eye. She refrained from saying anything on these subjects however, only turned to Hermione, who was preparing to include herself in anything the Gryffindor Head of House had to say to Ron. "Miss Granger," she began, her tone soft but firm, "I understand the concern you feel for your friend, but what I have to say is meant only for Mr. Weasley. You would do best to give him some privacy."

"It's okay," Ron cut in before Hermione had a chance to say anything. "She already knows about...everything."

Hermione smiled uncertainly at McGonogal as Ron said this, secretly wondering to herself if it were actually true. It was clear that the prophesy she had told him about the night before had come as a surprise to Ron, but equally clear that there was still something he wasn't telling them. Just how important that something was remained to be seen.

"Does she, then?" McGonogal raised both eyebrows and peered at Ron intently for a moment, looking skeptical. "Well, I must say I am pleased to know that you've finally decided to be open with your friends. Very well. Come with me to my office." With that she turned and strode out the portrait door, not bothering to see that the other two followed.

"Take a seat." McGonagal gestured to two chairs pulled up in front of her desk as she moved around it and seated herself in her own worn, though at the same time straight backed and proper-looking, chair. "Ronald Weasley," she began, "no doubt you have been made aware," here McGonogal glanced at Hermione, "that over the past two nights there have been attacks on two of the students at the school and, though they remain alive, these attacks were very serious. It behooves us to treat whomever, or whatever is responsible for them as a very strong threat to the school." Ron, his face blank, simply nodded so McGonogal continued. "As I'm sure you expect, the teachers at Hogwarts will be taking very serious steps to ensure the safety of the students. We will not be tolerating a another attack. However, all of this will be discussed when the students assemble shortly for breakfast. What I have to say to you is more specific. Am I correct in assuming, Mr. Weasley, that a long term separation of you and Draco Malfoy is not a possibility?"

Ron sat up straighter as he heard this, looking a mixture of concerned, baffled, and fearful. "Of course it's not. Why..."

"As I'm sure you understand," McGonogal cut in, "when parents hear of what has happened, many will demand to have their children sent home. If the Malfoys request that their son return home, you must be prepared to go with him."

"What!" Ron exploded, rising quickly to his feet. "Are you crazy? We can't do..."

"Mr. Weasley." This time McGonogal's voice was laced with iron and Hermione was glad the professor's ire was not directed at her. "Sit down."

Red in the face, Ron sat grudgingly and McGonogal continued. "You understand why this must be. We have already been contacted by Lucius Malfoy. He has informed us in no unclear terms that if this situation is not under control by the end of the day, then he will be arriving this evening to take his son home." Ron's nostrils flared but he refrained from saying anything as of yet. McGonogal looked tired. "I understand your distress, Ronald, but while we will certainly be doing everything we can to end this threat, there is a very real chance that you will just have to resign yourself to this."

The professor looked genuinely sorry and Hermione felt the same. Though she was confused by this turn of events (Lucius Malfoy wanted to remove his son, who was the threat, away from the threat?), Ron was clearly distressed. She would be too, considering that he would be forced to be virtually alone with that monster, at that monster's house. She, or any of them, would have hated the thought, even before what was going on with Malfoy and Ron. Now, knowing what they did, the thought of Ron isolated with the Malfoys sent a chill down her spine and she could feel the fear like a cold, lead weight in her stomach. She put a hand to Ron's shoulder, wanting to comfort him and reassure herself that for the moment he was safe. Ron didn't look afraid though, he just looked angry. Without a word he rose once again from his chair, shaking Hermione's hand from his shoulder, and strode quickly from the room, slamming the door behind him. 


End file.
